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iT^O^vvX^    V^^-Cu^ 


GATEWAY  SERIES 


ESSAY  ON  BURNS 

BY-' 

THOMAS   CARLYLE 

EDITED   BY 

EDWIN    MIMS,    Ph.D. 

PROFESSOR  OF   ENGLISH   LITERATURE 
VANDERBILT   UNIVERSITY,  TENNESSEE 


NEW  YORK-:- CINCINNATI  •:•  CHICAGO 

AMERICAN    BOOK    COMPANY 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
AMERICAN   BOOK  COMPANY. 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


carlyle's  burns. 
E.  P.      1 


PREFACE    BY   THE   GENERAL 
EDITOR 

This  series  of  books  aims,  first,  to  give  the  English 
texts  required  for  entrance  to  college  in  a  form  which 
shall  make  them  clear,  interesting,  and  helpful  to  those 
who  are  beginning  the  study  of  literature  ;  and,  second, 
to  supply  the  knowledge  which  the  student  needs  to 
pass  the  entrance  examination.  For  these  two  reasons 
it  is  called  The  Gateway  Series, 

The  poems,  plays,  essays,  and  stories  in  these  small 
volumes  are  treated,  first  of  all,  as  works  of  literature, 
which  were  written  to  be  read  and  enjoyed,  not  to  be 
parsed  and  scanned  and  pulled  to  pieces.  A  short  life 
of  the  author  is  given,  and  a  portrait,  in  order  to  help! 
the  student  to  know  the  real  person  who  wrote  the 
book.  The  introduction  tells  what  it  is  about,  and 
how  it  was  written,  and  where  the  author  got  the  idea, 
and  what  it  means.  The  notes  at  the  foot  of  the  page 
are  simply  to<  give  the  sense  of  the  hard  words  so  that 
the  student  can  read  straight  on  without  turning  to  a 
dictionary.  The  other  notes,  at  the  end  of  the  book, 
explain  difficulties  and  allusions  and  fine  points. 

99^827 


6  Preface  by  the  General  Editor 

The  editors  are  chosen  because  of  their  thorough 
training  and  special  fitness  to  deal  with  the  books 
committed  to  them,  and  because  they  agree  with  this 
idea  of  what  a  Gateway  Series  ought  to  be.  They 
express,  in  each  case,  their  own  views  of  the  books 
which  they  edit.  Simplicity,  thoroughness,  shortness, 
and  clearness,  —  these,  we  hope,  will  be  the  marks  of 
the  series. 

HENRY  VAN  DYKE. 


INTRODUCTION 

I.    Thomas  Carlyle 

Mr.  Augustine  Birrell,  a  leading  member  of  the  Eng- 
lish Parliament  and  one  of  the  cleverest  of  contemporary 
critics,  has  said  recently :  "  Young  man,  do  not  be  in 
too  great  a  hurry  to  leave  your  Carlyle  unread."  To 
follow  this  advice  is  not  so  easy  for  the  young  as  it 
might  seem.  Carlyle,  as  a  man,  had  some  characteristics 
that  repel  those  who  do  not  know  the  stronger  and 
finer  elements  in  his  character,  while  as  a  writer  he  has 
eccentricities  of  style  and  exaggerations  of  thought  that 
cause  the  uninitiated  to  do  him  an  injustice.  As  these 
words  are  being  written  the  public  is  hearing  again  the 
story  of  Carlyle's  married  life  with  emphasis  on  the  un- 
pleasant features  of  his  character  and  his  writings.  The 
world  will  not  know  him  at  his  best  until  it  sees  him  far 
removed  from  some  of  the  disagreeable  facts  revealed  by 
his  friend  and  biographer,  Froude. 

To  the  young  of  his  own  day  he  was  an  inspiring  voice. 
Matthew  Arnold,  in  a  memorable  passage  in  his  address 
on  Emerson,  speaking  of  the  "  voices  "  that  sounded  at 
Oxford  when  he  was  a  student  there,  refers  to  the  puis- 
sant voice  of  Carlyle  as  "  fresh,  comparatively  sound, 

7 


8  Carlyle's  Essay  on   Burns 

'  and  reaching  our  hearts  with  true  prophetic  eloquence. " 
V'heii-Tyndall  wasr.a  young  man,  Carlyle  supplied  a  moral 
impulse'  that  "Ida  him  to  a  strenuous  life  of  scientific 
research.  Froude,  after  describing  the  doubt  and  unrest 
that  pervaded  the  minds  of  Englishmen  in  the  middle 
of  the  century,  says  that  the  voice  of  Carlyle  was  "  like 
the  voice  of  ten  thousand  trumpets  in  the  ears  of  many 
young  Englishmen.',  To  many  men  Carlyle  has  been, 
if  not  a  teacher,  a  prophet,  emancipating  them  from  all 
forms  of  cant  and  awakening  them  to  the  divine  signifi- 
cance of  life.  It  is  with  a  view  to  arousing  an  interest 
in  Carlyle's  personality  and  to  cause  students  to  read 
with  genuine  appreciation  the  Essay  on  Burns  and,  later, 
other  works  of  Carlyle,  that  these  introductory  words 
are  written. 

Thomas  Carlyle  was  born  at  Ecclefechan  in  Annan- 
dale,  Scotland,  December  4,  1795.  The  immediate  family 
to  which  he  belonged  cannot  trace  its  ancestry  further 
than  Thomas  Carlyle,  the  author's  grandfather,  who 
worked  as  carpenter  and  farmer  for  half  the  year  and 
for  the  remainder  led  a  wandering  life  somewhat  after 
the  type  of  the  border  raiders,  frequently  leaving  his 
family  in  destitute  circumstances.  His  son,  James  Car- 
lyle, after  a  youth  in  which  he  had  to  "  scramble 
('scraffie  ! ')  for  [his]  very  clothes  and  food,"  settled  in 
Ecclefechan  in  1773,  becoming  first  an  apprentice  to  a 
stone  mason,  then  a  master  builder,  and  later  an  inde- 
pendent farmer.  The  words  in  which  Carlyle  has  char- 
acterized his  father  are  worthy  of  note : 


Introduction  9 

"  More  remarkable  man  than  my  father  I  have  never 
met  in  my  journey  through  life ;  sterling  sincerity  in 
thought,  word,  and  deed,  most  quiet,  but  capable  of 
blazing  into  whirlwinds  when  needful,  and  such  a  flash 
of  just  insight  and  brief  natural  eloquence  and  emphasis, 
true  to  every  feature  of  it  as  I  have  never  known  in  any 
other.  Humour  of  a  most  grim  Scandinavian  type  he 
occasionally  had  ;  wit  rarely  or  never  —  too  serious  for 
wit  —  my  excellent  mother  with  perhaps  the  deeper  piety 
in  most  senses  had  also  the  most  sport.  No  man  of  my 
day,  or  hardly  any  man,  can  have  had  better  parents. 
None  of  us  will  ever  forget  that  bold  glowing  style  of 
his  flowing  free  from  the  untutored  soul.  Never  shall  we 
again  hear  such  speech  as  that  was.  The  whole  district 
knew  of  it.  In  anger  he  had  no  need  of  oaths  ;  his  words 
were  like  sharp  arrows  that  smote  into  the  very  heart." 

He  always  counted  it  as  one  of  the  greatest  of  bless- 
ings that  he  had  the  example  of  "  a  real  man  of  God's 
own  making  "  continually  before  him,  "  a  true  Workman 
in  this  vineyard  of  the  Highest."  In  later  years  the 
sight  of  a  bridge  or  of  a  house  that  his  father  had  built 
inspired  him  to  do  honest  and  enduring  work,  his  highest 
ambition  being  to  write  books  as  his  father  had  built 
houses. 

His  father  early  in  life  had  come  under  the  influence 
of  the  Scottish  Kirk  and  was  noted  for  his  rugged  and 
unswerving  piety.  The  religious  element  was  also  largely 
developed  in  his  mother,  Margaret  Aitken  — "  of  the 
fairest  descent,  that  of  the  pious,  the  just  and  wise." 


io  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

She  was  more  approachable  than  his  father;  "my  heart 
and  tongue  played  freely  only  with  my  mother."  She 
could  barely  write  when  he  was  a  young  boy  and  learned 
to  write  well  in  order  to  correspond  with  her  son.  The 
burden  of  these  letters  was,  whether  he  was  at  the 
University  of  Edinburgh  or  later  in  London,  "  Do  make 
religion  your  great  study,"  "  Tell  me  honestly  if  you 
read  your  chapter  e'en  and  morn,  lad."  Although  his 
father  had  perhaps  a  greater  influence  in  determining 
his  intellectual  life,  his  mother  was  the  one  whom  of  all 
others,  in  his  childhood  or  in  his  later  years,  he  loved 
best. 

He  learned  reading  from  his  mother  and  arithmetic 
from  his  father,  who,  realizing  at  an  early  day  that  his 
son  was  a  brilliant  boy,  determined  to  give  him  a  good 
education.  Accordingly  Thomas  was  sent  to  Annan  in 
1806.  Here  he  experienced  the  hardship  of  being 
thrown  with  rude  companions  who  made  his  life  miser- 
able, and  the  pedantry  of  teachers  who  had  little  power 
to  inspire  him.  "  My  teachers,"  says  he  in  a  passage  in 
Sartor  Resa,7'tus,  evidently  autobiographical,  "  were  hide- 
bound pedants,  without  knowledge  of  man's  nature  or  of 
boy's;  or  of  aught  save  their  lexicons  and  quarterly  ac- 
count books.  Innumerable  dead  Vocables  they  crammed 
into  us  and  called  it  fostering  the  growth  of  mind."  The 
chief  benefit  in  this  academy  life  was  in  reading  widely 
in  all  the  books  that  he  could  find,  and  in  a  reasonably 
good  training  in  Latin  and  French. 

His  father,  desiring  that  his  son  should  give  himself 


Introduction  II 

to  the  ministry,  determined  to  put  him  at  the  University 
of  Edinburgh,  whither  he  went  in  1809,  walking  the  dis- 
tance of  eighty  miles.  His  university  training  was  little 
different  from  that  at  the  Annan  Academy,  except  that 
in  mathematics  he  found  an  inspiring  teacher,  Professor 
Leslie.  The  large  library  afforded  him  opportunities  to 
"read  fluently  in  almost  all  cultivated  languages  in  almost 
all  subjects  and  sciences,"  while  through  some  few  of  his 
college  chums  he  had  some  contact  with  the  world  of  real 
life.  Judging  from  the  early  letters  that  passed  between 
these  young  university  students,  they  must  have  been 
thoroughly  alive  to  what  was  then  happening  in  the 
world  and  shrewd  interpreters  thereof.  Carlyle  was 
called  "  Jonathan,"  "  the  Dean,"  etc.,  because  of  his 
evident  tendency  to  satirize  the  foibles  of  men  after  the 
manner  of  Swift. 

After  graduating  at  the  university,  and  before  entering 
upon  the  work  of  the  ministry,  he  taught  school  (1814- 
18 18),  first  for  two  years  at  Annan,  and  then  for  about 
the  same  length  of  time  at  Kirkcaldy.  Carlyle's  tempera- 
ment could  never  adapt  itself  to  school-mastering,  although 
he  did  his  duty  faithfully.  He  disliked  the  business  more 
and  more  and  resolved  finally  to  "  perish  in  the  ditch  " 
rather  than  continue  it.  The  monotony  of  teaching 
was  broken  by  his  vacations  which  were  spent  at  Main- 
hill,  where  his  father  had  moved  from  Ecclefechan.  At 
Kirkcaldy  he  became  the  intimate  friend  of  Edward 
Irving,  who  besides  furnishing  him  with  books  —  notably 
Gibbon's  complete  works,  which  he  eagerly  devoured  in 


12  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

twelve  days,  and  many  of  the  French  classics — was  his 
companion  on  many  long  walks  by  the  seashore,  —  "  a  fine 
long  sandy  beach,"  —  and  in  trips  to  Edinburgh  and  the 
Trossachs.  They  had  been  brought  up  within  a  few  miles 
of  each  other,  and  both  of  them  were  now  looking  toward 
the  ministry,  so  that  there  was  both  intellectual  and 
spiritual  comradeship.  Although  their  paths  diverged 
widely  in  later  years,  their  friendship  in  this,  the  dawn  of 
life,  was  of  the  greatest  significance  to  Carlyle,  who  for 
the  first  time  realized  "  the  communion  of  man  with 
man  "  —  "  the  freest,  brotherliest,  bravest  human  soul 
mine  ever  came  in  contact  with." 

Neither  the  zeal  of  his  parents  nor  the  intimate  com- 
radeship of  Irving  could  induce  Carlyle  to  go  into  the 
ministry.  Both  his  temperament  and  his  tendency  to 
investigate  the  faith  that  he  was  supposed  to  champion 
led  him  gradually  to  give  up  his  purpose.  Having  saved 
ninety  pounds  from  his  four  years  of  teaching,  he  deter- 
mined to  go  to  Edinburgh  and  study  law.  He  found  no 
satisfaction  in  that,  however,  nor  in  writing  for  Brewster's 
Encyclopedia,  nor  in  tutoring.  From  now  until  1821 
came  the  saddest  and  most  miserable  years  of  his  life. 
He  was  attacked  by  dyspepsia  and  knew  what  it  was 
"  to  be  immured  in  a  rotten  carcass,  every  avenue  of 
which  is  chained  into  an  inlet  of  pain,  till  rny  intellect  is 
obscured  and  weakened,  and  my  head  and  heart  are  alike 
desolate  and  dark."  "  I  want  health,  health,  health,"  was 
his  pathetic  cry.  More  than  physical  suffering,  however, 
was   the   spiritual   crisis  through  which  he  now  passed. 


Introduction  13 

Unable  to  find  his  work  in  the  world,  —  to  adjust  his  in- 
ward and  outward  capabilities,  —  he  was  brought  face  to 
face  with  that  nameless  unrest,  that  "  high,  sad,  longing 
discontent,"  that  so  many  of  the  stronger  men  of  the 
nineteenth  century  have  had  to  face.  The  mood  of 
Byron  and  of  Goethe's  Werther  was  upon  him.  Even  in 
his  home  at  Mainhill,  where  he  went  at  the  earnest  solici- 
tation of  his  father  and  family,  he  "  wandered  about  the 
moors  like  a  helpless  spirit."  In  a  passage  characterized 
by  exquisite  beauty  and  pathos,  he  has  told  of  the 
evening  when  he  and  Irving,  walking  from  Glasgow  to 
Annandale,  began  to  talk  of  the  truth  of  the  Christian 
religion.  "The  talk  had  grown  ever  friendlier,  more 
interesting  :  at  length,  the  declining  sun  said  plainly,  You 
must  part.  .  .  .  We  leant  our  backs  to  a  dry  stone 
fence,  and  looking  into  the  western  radiance,  continued 
in  talk  yet  a  while,  loth  both  of  us  to  go.  It  was  here, 
just  as  the  sun  was  sinking,  Irving  actually  drew  from 
me  by  degrees,  in  the  softest  manner,  the  confession  that 
I  did  noi  think  as  he  of  Christian  religion,  and  it  was  vain 
for  me  to  expect  I  ever  could  or  should." 

But  Carlyle  could  not  remain  in  a  state  of  unrest  and 
doubt.  Several  influences  aided  him  in  working  out  a 
genuine  and  enduring  faith.  First  of  all,  his  own  moral 
integrity  and  spiritual  earnestness  that  defied  the  spirit 
of  doubt,  even  when  he  was  under  its  spell. 

"  Perplext  in  faith,  but  pure  in  deeds, 
At  last  he  beat  his  music  out." 

The  friendship  of  Irving  was  soothing  to  him  —  "  beyond 


14  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

all  other  men  he  was  helpful  to  me  when  I  most  needed 
help."  More  significant  still,  "  the  steady  confidence  of  his 
father,  the  anxious  affection  of  his  mother  and  the  cordial 
sympathy  of  his  brothers  and  sisters "  supported  him. 
From  an  intellectual  standpoint  the  determining  influence, 
aside  from  all  these,  was  the  study  of  German  literature, 
which  was  to  him  as  "  the  revelation  of  a  new  Heaven  and 
a  new  Earth."  Goethe  especially  brought  to  him  the 
gospel  that  he  was  in  search  of,  for  Goethe  had  not  only 
suffered  and  mourned  in  bitter  agony  under  the  spiritual 
perplexities  of  his  time,  but  he  had  also  mastered  them. 
He  was  above  them  and  had  shown  others  how  to  rise 
above  them.  He  had  travelled  the  road  that  Carlyle 
was  travelling  and  had  found  his  way  from  inward  im- 
prisonment, doubt,  and  discontent,  into  freedom,  belief, 
and  clear  activity.  He  taught  Carlyle  "to  reconcile 
reverence  with  clearness ;  to  deny  and  defy  what  is  False, 
yet  believe  and  worship  what  is  True." 

And  so,  after  years  of  intense  spiritual  agony,  Carlyle 
found  an  answer  to  his  questions  and  doubts.  In  Sartor 
Resartus  he  has  told  of  the  memorable  afternoon  in  June, 
1 82 1,  when,  while  taking  one  of  the  many  walks  to  the 
seashore,  he  had  an  experience  that  corresponds  to 
the  conversion  that  Christians  speak  of.  "  And  as  I  so 
thought,  there  rushed  like  a  stream  of  fire  over  my  whole 
soul ;  and  I  shook  base  Fear  away  from  me  forever.  I 
was  strong,  of  unknown  strength ;  a  spirit,  almost  a  god. 
Ever  from  that  time  the  temper  of  my  misery  was 
changed :  not  Fear  or  whining  Sorrow  was  it,  but  Indig- 


Introduction  1 5 

nation  and  grim  fire-eyed  Defiance.  Thus  had  the 
Everlasting  No  pealed  authoritatively  through  all  the 
recesses  of  my  Being,  of  my  Me  j  and  then  was  it  that 
my  whole  Me  stood  up  in  native  God -created  majesty, 
and  with  emphasis  recorded  its  Protest.  ...  It  is  from 
this  hour  that  I  incline  to  date  my  Spiritual  New-birth, 
or  Baphometic  Fire-baptism ;  perhaps  I  directly  there- 
upon began  to  be  a  Man." 

Although  this  incident  is  an  important  landmark  in 
Carlyle's  life,  it  was  four  years  before  he  conquered  all 
his  scepticisms,  agonizings,  doubtings.  He  was  never  at 
ease  in  Zion ;  he  was  to  have  struggle  after  struggle,  but 
from  this  time  he  was  committed  to  two  or  three  funda- 
mental truths  and  had  thus  won,  as  he  afterward  said, 
u  an  immense  victory."  The  faith  of  Carlyle  —  so  im- 
portant for  the  understanding  of  his  later  life  —  may 
be  summed  up  in  three  passages  from  Sartor  Resartus. 
*'  What  is  Nature?  Ha  !  why  do  I  not  name  thee  God? 
Art  thou  not  the  '  Living  Garment  of  God  '  ?  .  .  .  The 
Universe  is  not  dead  and  demoniacal,  a  charnel-house 
with  spectres,  but  godlike  and  my  Father's  !  "  "  Love 
not  Pleasure ;  love  God.  This  is  the  Everlasting  Yea, 
wherein  all  contradiction  is  solved  ;  wherein  whoso  walks 
and  works,  it  is  well  with  him."  "I  too  could  now  say 
to  myself:  Be  no  longer  a  Chaos,  but  a  World,  or  even 
Worldkin.  Produce  !  produce  !  Were  it  but  the  pitifullest 
infinitesimal  fraction  of  a  Product,  produce  it,  in  God's 
name  !  'Tis  the  utmost  thou  hast  in  thee :  out  with  it, 
then.     Up,  Up  !     Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do, 


1 6  Carlyle's  Essay  on   Burns 

do  it  with  thy  whole  might.  Work  while  it  is  called  To- 
day ;  for  the  Night  cometh  wherein  no  man  can  work." 
Henceforth  he  was  ready  to  proclaim  his  Gospel  —  the 
divineness  of  Nature,  the  infinite  nature  of  Duty,  and  the 
overwhelming  necessity  of  Work. 

In  1822  Carlyle's  prospects  became  brighter,  and  two 
chances  were  offered  for  him  to  put  into  practice  his 
gospel  of  work.  Edward  Irving,  now  growing  famous  in 
London,  secured  for  him  the  position  of  tutor  for  the 
Buller  family  —  parishioners  of  Irving  —  at  a  salary  of 
^"200,  and  soon  afterward,  at  a  suggestion  of  Irving's, 
the  editor  of  the  London  Magazine  made  overtures  for 
some  translations  of  German  literature.  The  two 
fitted  in  with  each  other.  Faithful  to  the  discharge  of 
his  tutorial  work,  and  winning  the  highest  respect  of  the 
Buller  family,  especially  of  his  pupil,  Charles  Buller, 
who  now  and  throughout  his  life  was  his  warm  friend, 
he  worked  in  his  leisure  moments  and  during  his  vaca- 
tions at  Mainhill  on  the  life  of  Schiller  and  a  translation 
of  Wilhelm  Meister.  Carlyle's  first  literary  work  was 
thus  in  the  translation  and  interpretation  of  German 
literature,  which,  at  the  critical  time  in  his  life,  had  meant 
so  much  to  him.  Schiller's  life  was  an  inspiration  to  him, 
for  he  too  had  won  the  fight  with  poverty,  disease,  neg- 
lect, and  doubt.  More  satisfying  was  the  translation  of 
Goethe's  novel,  the  most  significant  portion  of  which  — 
the  passage  dealing  with  the  three  kinds  of  reverence  — 
made  a  profound  impression  on  him. 

In  June,  1824,  Carlyle,  who  had  up  to  that  time  never 


Introduction  17 

been  out  of  Scotland,  went  with  the  Bullers  to  London, 
where  he  had  the  pleasure  of  being  thrown  intimately 
again  with  his  old  friend  Irving,  through  whom  he  got  an 
introduction  to  some  of  the  more  prominent  literary  men 
of  that  time.  It  may  be  said  that  English  literature  was 
then  in  a  state  of  decline.  The  men  of  the  preceding 
age  were  either  dead  or  had  done  their  best  work,  while 
the  men  who  were  to  make  the  literature  of  the  Victorian 
age  were  as  yet  in  their  teens.  Naturally,  Carlyle  was 
not  very  favorably  impressed  with  the  literary  world. 
His  comments  on  authors  are  at  once  unappreciative  and, 
in  some  cases,  unjust.  Coleridge,  whom  he  afterward 
described  in  his  masterful  way  in  the  life  of  Sterling, 
he  found  "  unprofitable,  even  tedious  "  ;  Lamb,  whose  life 
might  have  taught  him  lessons  in  patience  and  self-sacri- 
fice, is  spoken  of  in  the  most  contemptuous  words ;  De 
Quincey  is  a  dwarf  with  "a  laudanum  bottle  in  his  pocket 
and  the  venom  of  a  wasp  in  his  heart  "  ;  while  Hazlitt's 
connection  with  ginshops  and  pawnbrokers  is  selected 
as  his  distinguishing  characteristic.  That  which  disgusted 
Carlyle  most  was  the  fact  that  literature  was  largely  re- 
duced to  reviewing  for  the  magazines,  which  seemed  to 
him  to  destroy  the  independence  of  authors.  "  Does 
literature  lead  to  this?  Good  heavens!  .  .  .  And  is 
this  the  literary  world  ?  "  He  will  not  be  "  a  miserable 
scrub  of  an  author  sharking  and  writing  articles  about 
town  like  Hazlitt."  He  returned  from  London  con- 
vinced that  he  would  have  to  fight  his  battles  alone. 
One  bright  spot  in  this  London  life  was  a  letter  from 
carlyle's  essay  on  burns  —  2 


1 8  Carlyle's  Essay  on   Burns 

Goethe  —  "like  a  message  from  fairyland"  —  acknowl- 
edging the  work  that  Carlyle  had  done,  and  greeting  him 
as  a  new  moral  force  in  European  literature.  He 
was  encouraged  to  go  on  with  his  work.  After  mak- 
ing arrangements  with  a  London  publisher  to  translate 
specimens  of  German  romance,  he  settled  at  Hoddarn 
Hill,  a  little  farm  selected  by  his  father  as  a  suitable  place 
for  him  to  live.  Here  his  brother  Alick  worked  the 
farm  for  him,  while  his  mother  and  sisters  kept  house. 
He  had  long,  solitary  rides  on  his  horse  "  Larry," 
within  full  view  of  the  Cumberland  mountains.  He 
enjoyed  quiet  for  his  work  and  a  deep  religious  peace 
such  as  he  had  never  known.  A  russet-coated  idyl  he 
called  the  year  at  this  place  —  "one  of  the  quietest,  on 
the  whole,  and  perhaps  one  of  the  most  triumphant  and 
important  of  my  life/' 

The  happiest  incident  in  this  year's  life  at  Hoddam 
Hill  was  the  coming  of  Jane  Welsh,  who  for  ten  days 
visited  the  Carlyles  in  their  humble  home.  He  had  been 
introduced  to  her  four  years  before  by  their  mutual  friend, 
Irving,  and  had  since  then  visited  her  often  at  her  home 
in  Haddington.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  prosperous 
physician,  John  Welsh  (a  lineal  descendant  of  John  Knox), 
and  of  a  sensitive,  high-strung  mother.  From  her  child- 
hood she  had  been  a  brilliant  and  ambitious  girl,  battling 
with  the  conventional  and  commonplace  people  by  whom 
she  was  surrounded.  Under  the  tutelage  of  Irving  she  had 
been  stimulated  in  her  passionate  desire  for  learning.  With 
attractive  manners  and   brilliant   conversational   power, 


Introduction  19 

she  was  generally  known  as  the  flower  of  Haddington, 
and  was  much  sought  after  by  the  men  of  that  district. 
Drawn  into  a  larger  world  of  thinking  and  living  by  Irving, 
she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him  and  he  with  her.  But  on 
account  of  his  engagement  to  Miss  Martin  —  an  engage- 
ment from  which  the  young  lady  would  not  release  him  — 
their  love  affair  ended  with  the  marriage  of  Irving  and 
the,  at  least,  temporary  disappointment  of  Jane  Welsh  — 
and,  as  some  have  thought,  with  the  tragedy  of  each 
of  them.  In  182 1  she  had  met  Carlyle,  and  though 
repelled  by  his  rough  manners  and  his  uncouth  figure, 
she  had  been  attracted  by  his  sterling  worth  and  his  un- 
doubted genius.  At  first  their  friendship  was  the  result 
of  intellectual  sympathies  ;  in  the  first  letters  that  passed 
between  chem  we  find  suggestions  of  poems  and  novels 
that  might  be  written  in  common.  Gradually,  however, 
Carlyle  came  to  look  upon  her  as  the  one  suited  to  be 
his  wife  —  a  notion  against  which  she  struggled  with 
diminishing  force.  The  letters  that  had  passed  between 
them  while  Carlyle  was  in  London  were  characterized  at 
times  by  affection,  at  other  times  by  mutual  misunder- 
standing and  shrinking  from  what  seemed  to  be  their 
destiny. 

It  was  to  satisfy  herself  completely  as  to  Carlyle  and 
his  family  that  she  made  the  visit  to  Hoddam  Hill  in  the 
summer  of  1825.  She  went  away  determined,  much 
against  the  wishes  of  her  mother,  who  had  objected  both 
to  Carlyle's  impatience  and  to  his  lack  of  religion,  to  link 
her  fate  with  this  rugged,  and  as  yet  unknown,  man.     To 


20  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

her  aunt  she  wrote  :  "  He  has  a  warm,  true  heart  to  love 
me,  a  towering  intellect  to  command  me,  and  a  spirit 
of  fire  to  be  the  guiding  star  of  my  life  ;  .  .  .  not  a  great 
man  according  to  the  most  common  sense  of  the  word, 
but  truly  great  in  its  natural  proper  sense  :  a  scholar,  a 
poet,  a  philosopher,  a  wise  and  noble  man,  one  who 
holds  his  patent  of  nobility  from  Almighty  God,  and 
whose  high  stature  of  manhood  is  not  to  be  measured 
by  the  inch  rule  of  Lilliputs." 

They  were  married  October  17,  1826,  and  went,  not 
to  some  country  paradise  such  as  Hoddam  Hill,  but  to 
Comely  Bank,  Edinburgh,  where  they  lived  for  eighteen 
months  a  quiet  and  somewhat  disillusioned  life.  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  hopes  with  regard  to  sharing  the  intellectual 
work  of  Carlyle  were  not  realized ;  for  now  and  hereafter 
her  husband  could  do  his  best  work  only  in  almost  entire 
isolation,  while  both  of  them  suffered  from  ill  health  and 
natural  irritability  that  were  to  be  the  sources  of  con- 
tinual unhappiness,  especially  in  later  years.  At  Comely 
Bank  they  entertained  in  a  very  simple  way  the  literary 
men  of  Edinburgh  —  Brewster,  Jeffrey,  De  Quincey,  and 
John  Wilson  ("  Christopher  North  ").  It  was  difficult  for 
Carlyle  to  get  any  settled  work,  for  his  German  transla- 
tions were  not  prospering  as  they  had  promised.  He 
began  to  write  a  novel,  Wotton  Reinfred,  which,  though 
never  completed,  was  afterward  worked  into  Sartor 
Resartus.  Jeffrey,  at  that  time  the  brilliant  editor  of  the 
Edinburgh  Review,  had  been  especially  attracted  by 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  and  now  opened  the  columns  of  his  review 


Introduction  21 

for  Carlyle's  articles  on  Richter  and  The  State  of  German 
Literature,  articles  in  which  Carlyle  defended  the  Ger- 
mans against  the  charges  of  bad  taste,  mysticism,  and 
obscurity. 

After  trying  unsuccessfully  for  positions  in  London 
University  and  at  St.  Andrews,  Carlyle  decided  in  May, 
1828,  to  move  to  Craigenputtock,  —  the  ancestral  home 
of  the  Welshes,  —  where,  with  the  exception  of  two  winters 
spent  in  London  (1 831-183 2)  and  Edinburgh  (1832- 
1833),  he  lived  until  1834.  Mrs.  Carlyle  had  written  be- 
fore her  marriage  that  she  would  not  live  there  with  an 
angel ;  now  she  acceded  to  the  wishes  of  her  husband  with 
good  grace  and  began  her  life,  as  Jeffrey  said,  as  an  exile  to 
Siberia.  Froude  describes  this  place  as  "  the  dreariest  spot 
in  all  the  British  dominions,"  a  house  in  the  middle  of  the 
desert  —  "  gaunt  and  hungry  looking,"  surrounded  by 
peat  bogs,  and  sixteen  miles  distant  on  every  side  from  all 
conveniences  of  life,  shops,  and  even  post-offices.  There 
were  times  when  Mrs.  Carlyle  took  pleasure  in  looking 
after  the  garden,  poultry  yard,  dairy,  and  kitchen,  and  in 
the  evening  readings  with  her  husband,  but  most  of  the 
time  the  dreariness  and  isolation  of  her  life  wore  heavily 
upon  her.  For  Carlyle  this  life  was  undoubtedly  the  best 
that  he  could  have  lived.  His  long  rides  on  horseback 
and  his  walks  over  the  moors  with  the  ground  crisp  under 
his  feet  —  "  the  stars  shining  over  his  head,  silent  in  the 
great  silence" — gave  him  "a  stock  of  robust  health,"  and 
what  is  better,  gave  him  opportunity  for  those  medita- 
tions and  spiritual  reveries  that  were  to  be  permanent  con- 


22  Carlyle's  Essay  on   Burns 

tributions  to  the  thought  of  the  century  in  which  he  lived 
"  In  those  years  we  see  the  leap  from  the  immature  en- 
ergy of  youth  to  the  full  intellectual  strength  of  completed 
manhood."  The  essays  on  Burns,  Voltaire,  Diderot,  Dr 
Johnson  and  Characteristics,  show  an  ever  surer  mastery 
of  form  and  more  definite  conception  of  literature  and 
life.  He  had  fought  out  his  battle  with  unbelief  in  the 
early  twenties.  Scarcely  less  formidable  was  his  fight  for 
literary  independence  against  the  acknowledged  leaders 
of  that  day.  In  his  ears  were  sounding  continually  the 
words  of  Jeffrey,  who  slashed  the  Essay  on  Burns  to  pieces 
and  took  occasion  to  advise  him  as  to  his  future  work. 
This  advice  was  friendly,  no  doubt,  but  it  was  none  the  less 
the  voice  of  the  tempter.  Failing  on  Wordsworth  and  Cole- 
ridge, Jeffrey  hoped  to  succeed  in  keeping  this  brilliant 
young  man  in  the  paths  of  elegance  and  good  taste  and  out 
of  the  ways  of  mysticism  and  idealism.  He  told  him  that 
he  was  misusing  his  talent,  standing  in  his  own  way,  with 
his  "  desperate  darkness  of  audacious  mysticism,"  his  man- 
nerisms and  affectation,  and  his  advocacy  of  German  litera- 
ture. He  pointed  to  Macaulay's  great  success  and  told 
him  that  the  same  brilliant  future  awaited  him  if  he  would 
write  like  a  cultivated  Englishman  and  not  be  so  desper- 
ately in  earnest  about  things  that  were  of  no  importance. 
Even  Carlyle's  best  friends,  such  as  Emerson  and,  later, 
John  Sterling,  pleaded  with  him  against  his  "defying 
diction." 

In  the  face  of  such  criticism,  in  the  face  of  poverty 
and  neglect,  Carlyle  wr6te  Sartor  Resartus,  at  once  the 


Introduction  23 

dory  of  his  own  spiritual  growth  and  his  almost  defiant 
/iolation  of  the  conventional  diction  of  the  time.  He 
felt  for  some  time  that  he  had  a  book  that  "  would  cause 
ears  to  tingle,  and  one  day  out  it  must  and  will  issue." 
In  1830  he  wrote  the  first  sketch,  and  from  February,  183L, 
to  the  autumn  of  the  year,  he  expanded  and  rewrote  it 
in  book  form.  When  he  finished  writing  it  his  wife  said, 
"  It  is  a  work  of  genius,  dear,"  but  when  he  went  to  Lon- 
don to  dispose  of  it,  he  found  no  publisher  who  would 
consider  it.  None  cried,  Good  speed  to  it.  "  Much  as 
I  can  speak,  I  am  alone,  alone."  It  was  finally  published 
in  Fraser's  Magazine,  beginning  with  December,  1833, 
and  came  out  in  book  form  in  America  in  1836,  under  the 
patronage  of  Emerson.  In  England  for  six  years  it  made 
no  impression  whatever,  and  Carl  vie  could  only  say  in 
the  midst  of  every  possible  discouragement,  "  Courage, 
courage  ! " 

The  one  voice  that  came  to  him  in  these  years  of 
obscurity  was  that  of  Emerson.  Just  at  the  end  of 
their  stay  at  Craigenputtock  "the  Carlyles  were  sitting 
alone  at  a  dinner  on  Sunday  afternoon  at  the  end  of 
August  [1833],  when  a  Dumfries  carriage  drove  to  the 
door  and  there  stepped  out  of  it  a  young  American, 
then  unknown  to  fame."  It  was  like  the  coming  of  a 
sky  messenger  to  the  two  lonely  people,  and  the  friend- 
ship then  begun  was  one  of  great  inspiration  in  the  life 
of  each  man.  Emerson  said  to  Carlyle,  "Faint  not  — 
the  word  you  utter  is  heard,  though  in  the  ends  of  the 
earth  and  by  humble  men ;  it  works,  prevails." 


24  Carlyle's   Essay  on   Burns 

During  Carlyle's  second  visit  to  London  (1831-1 83  2) 
he  had  met  John  Stuart  Mill  and  Leigh  Hunt,  who  turned 
his  attention  toward  London.  Furthermore,  while  writ- 
ing his  essays  on  Voltaire,  Diderot,  and  the  Diamond 
Necklace,  and  later  in  his  wide  reading  in  the  Advocate's 
Library  at  Edinburgh  (in  the  winter  of  1832-1833),  he  had 
become  greatly  interested  in  the  French  Revolution,  the 
history  of  which  he  now  determined  to  write.  To  do 
this  he  must  be  near  the  large  libraries,  and  so  in  1834 
the  Carlyles  moved  to  London.  They  settled  at  5  (now  2 1 ) 
Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  where  they  lived  for  the  remainder 
of  their  lives. 

The  first  three  years  spent  here  were  a  continuation,  in 
many  respects,  of  the  hard  struggle  that  they  had  gone 
through  at  Craigenputtock.  There  was  little  social  life, 
and  Carlyle  was  working  prodigiously  on  his  history 
—  writing  as  "with  force  of  fire."  For  twenty-three 
months  he  did  not  receive  a  penny  for  his  writings. 
"  Literature  will  never  yield  bread,"  he  said,  "  nor  stom- 
ach to  digest  bread."  With  extreme  poverty  staring 
him  in  the  face  he  rejected  a  place  on  The  Times  and 
also  a  clerkship  with  the  Montagues,  fully  persuaded 
that  his  one  work  was  to  write.  In  March,  1835,  he 
had  finished  the  first  volume  of  his  history.  Giving  it 
to  his  friend  Mill  to  read,  he  was  overwhelmed  one 
morning  with  the  news  that  the  manuscript  had  been 
carelessly  thrown  into  the  fire  by  a  servant.  Crushing 
his  feeling  for  the  moment  out  of  sympathy  for  Mill, 
he   groaned    for    weeks    under    this   almost   intolerable 


Introduction  25 

affliction.  He  went  to  work,  however,  to  rewrite  the 
volume,  determined  to  stake  all  on  the  success  of  the 
work.  "  If  this  does  not  succeed,"  he  said,  "  I  will 
go  to  America  and  build  a  new  Scotsbrig  in  the  west- 
ern forest."  By  prodigious  work,  without  taking  any 
vacation,  he  finished  it  early  in  1837,  saying  to  his 
wife  as  he  walked  out  of  the  room,  "  I  know  not  whether 
this  book  is  worth  anything,  nor  what  the  world  will  do 
with  it,  or  misdo,  or  entirely  forbear  to  do,  as  is  likely ; 
but  this  I  can  tell  the  world,  you  have  not  had  for  a 
hundred  years  any  book  that  comes  more  direct  and 
flamingly  from  the  heart  of  a  living  man." 

Carlyle-was  not  this  time  to  be  disappointed.  The 
French  Revolution  established  him  in  the  minds  of  all 
thinking  people  as  one  of  the  great  men  of  letters  of  his 
day.  Sou  they  read  it  several  times.  Dickens  carried  a 
copy  of  it  with  him  wherever  he  went.  Thackeray  re- 
viewed it  sympathetically.  Carlyle  had  won  his  battle, 
not  by  writing  as  other  men  did,  not  by  following  any  of 
the  conventionalities  of  literary  art,  but  by  writing  in  his 
own  way  his  own  interpretation  of  history.  Even  Jeffrey 
and  Macaulay  recognized  that  he  did  well  in  not  trying 
to  do  as  other  men.  The  same  year  that  saw  the 
publication  of  the  French  Revolution  witnessed  Carlyle's 
appearance  as  a  lecturer.  For  four  successive  years  he 
lectured  to  some  of  the  most  brilliant  audiences  that 
ever  assembled  in  London,  the  most  notable  of  the  series 
being  Heroes  and  Hero-Worship,  published  in  book  form 
in  1 84 1.     It  must  have  been  a  strange  phenomenon,  that 


26  Carlyle's  Essay  on   Burns 

of  this  rude  Scotchman  with  his  Scotch  accent  and  his 
glowing  eyes  pouring  out  upon  the  fashionable  people  of 
London  his  "Annandale  grapeshot"  He  had  no  con- 
ventional message  for  them,  but  attempted  always  to 
overcome  prejudice  or  to  awaken  interest  in  men  not 
hitherto  considered  of  any  vital  importance. 

Carlyle  was  never  a  "clubbable"  man,  but  he  and  his 
wife  mingled  freely  in  society  at  times.  He  was  thrown 
in  a  social  way  with  the  men  of  the  older  generation, 
such  as  Land  or,  Rogers,  Moore,  South  ey,  and  Words- 
worth. He  was  also  a  member  of  the  Sterling  Club,  to 
which  belonged  Tennyson,  Spedding,  Milnes,  Maurice, 
and  others  of  the  brightest  and  most  promising  scholars 
and  men  of  letters.  He  was  evidently  a  good  conversa- 
tionalist, although  he  had  the  fault  that  he  criticized  in 
Coleridge,  the  habit  of  doing  all  the  talking  himself.  He 
was  dramatic,  extravagant,  overbearing.  He  was  prob- 
ably at  his  best  in  his  own  home  when  one  or  two  men 
that  he  liked  best  would  come  to  him.  In  a  letter  to 
Tennyson,  written  after  the  appearance  of  the  1842  edi- 
tion of  the  latter's  poems,  he  says :  "  But  do  you,  when 
you  return  to  London,  come  down  to  me  and  let  us  smoke 
a  pipe  together.  With  few  words,  with  many,  or  with 
none,  it  need  not  be  an  ineloquent  Pipe." 

One  season  the  Carlyles  entertained  a  company  of 
their  friends  in  a  somewhat  formal  reception.  "  At 
midnight,"  Carlyle  says,  "  I  smoked  a  peaceable  pipe, 
praying  it  might  be  long  before  we  saw  the  like  again." 
One  of  the  pleasures  he  enjoyed  most  was  the  friendship 


Introduction  27 

of  the  better  class  of  noblemen  —  notably,  the  Ashburton 
family  and  Lord  Houghton,  whom  he  visited  frequently 
in  their  London  and  country  homes.  We  read  also  of 
excursions  to  Wales,  Belgium,  the  Lake  country,  and 
elsewhere.  Always  the  city  of  London  was  interesting 
and  deeply  impressive  to  Carlyle.  He  could  see  from 
his  window  the  towers  of  Westminster  and  the  dome  of 
St.  Paul's.  He  never  tired  of  walking  in  the  parks  or  of 
watching  the  crowds  upon  the  streets.  "  He  rode  and 
walked  about  the  environs  of  London ;  and  the  roaring 
of  the  suburban  trains  and  the  gleam  of  the  green  and 
crimson  signal  lamps  were  wildly  impressive  to  him." 

However  interested  he  was  in  London  or  in  other  parts 
of  England,  he  went  almost  every  year  to  his  home  in 
Scotland  ;  especially  after  the  completion  of  a  book  or 
a  series  of  lectures  would  he  find  rest  and  peace  in  his 
mother's  quiet  home.  His  father's  death  in  1832  had 
drawn  him  all  the  nearer  to  his  mother  and  her  family. 
A  typical  vacation  is  that  of  1837,  after  finishing  the  French 
Revolution  and  his  first  course  of  lectures  —  wholly  idle> 
reading  novels,  smoking  pipes  in  the  garden  with  his 
mother.  He  writes  to  his  wife  :  "The  trees  wave 
peaceful  music  in  front  of  my  window.  Mother  is  wash- 
ing in  the  kitchen  to  my  left.  The  sound  of  Jamie 
building  his  peat-stack  is  audible,  and  they  are  storing 
potatoes  down  below.  .  .  .  I  hear  the  rustle  of  the  trees, 
the  music  of  the  burn."  In  another  letter  he  says  : 
"  One  night,  late,  I  rode  through  the  village  where  I  was 
born.     The  old  kirkyard  tree,  a  huge  old  gnarled  ash, 


28  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

was  nestling  itself  softly  against  the  great  twilight  in  the 
north.  A  star  or  two  looked  out  and  the  old  graves  were 
all  there,  and  my  father  and  my  sister  j  and  God  was 
above  us  all."  In  the  same  graveyard  his  mother  was 
placed  in  1853.  After  her  death  he  continued  to  visit 
his  brothers  and  sisters,  keeping  to  the  last  the  clannish 
spirit  so  characteristic  of  Scottish  families. 

After  attaining  independence  as  a  man  of  letters, 
Carlyle  continued  to  write  with  all  the  force  of  his  genius. 
In  1839  he  published  Chartism;  in  1841,  Heroes  and 
Hero- Worship ;  in  1843,  Past  and  Present;  in  1845, 
Life  and  Letters  of  Oliver  Cromwell;  in  1850,  Latter  Day 
Pamphlets  ;  in  1 85 1 ,  Life  of  John  Sterling  ;  in  1 85  8-1 865 , 
Frederick  the  Great.  He  brought  to  all  of  these  works 
the  sincerity  of  purpose,  the  indefatigable  industry,  and 
the  determination  to  do  the  best  work  of  which  he  was 
capable,  that  had  characterized  his  earliest  works.  They 
were  undertaken  with  a  desire  either  to  arouse  the  people 
of  England  to  the  enormous  suffering  of  the  labouring 
classes,  or,  as  in  his  historical  works,  "  to  recover  human 
figures  of  immense  historical  consequence  from  centuries 
of  accumulated  slander  and  misconception."  He  wrote 
them  all  as  with  force  of  fire. 

When  he  completed  Frederick  the  Great  he  received 
a  signal  recognition  of  his  place  in  British  life  in  his 
election  as  rector  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  He 
had  never  lost  his  love  of  Scotland,  and  this  recognition 
of  his  services  deeply  affected  him.  Beyond  his  own 
expectation  or  those  of  his  friends,  he  succeeded  in  the 


Introduction  29 

inaugural  address  that  he  delivered  in  1866.  Tyndall's 
account  of  the  occasion  is  an  expansion  of  the  words  he 
sent  back  by  telegram  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  "A  perfect  tri- 
umph." In  the  address  Carlyle  summed  up  his  entire 
life  work  and  gave  to  the  young  men  of  his  alma  mater 
his  philosophy  of  life  in  a  nutshell.  A  student  who  wishes 
to  get  at  the  essential  heart  of  Carlyle's  work  cannot  do 
better  than  read  this  notable  address,  which  received  not 
only  the  applause  of  the  brilliant  audience  in  Edinburgh, 
but  the  admiration  of  men  throughout  the  English  speak- 
ing world.  It  was  the  acme  of  his  fame  and  a  fitting 
climax  to  his  literary  career. 

Just  after  this  brilliant  success,  while  he  was  resting  at 
his  brother's  home  in  Annandale,  there  came  the  news 
of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  sudden  death.  During  the  period 
from  1845  to  1857  there  had  been  an  almost  serious 
estrangement  between  them ;  but  during  the  last  three 
years  of  her  life,  the  old  affectionate  days  had  come 
back  —  "the  old  tone,  the  old  confidences."  "The 
sunset  of  their  married  life  recovered  something  of  the 
colours  of  its  morning,"  says  Froude.  The  shock  of 
his  wife's  death  was  therefore  all  the  keener.  "I  was 
rich  once,"  he  says,  "  had  I  known  it,  very  rich ;  and  now 
I  am  become  poor  unto  the  end."  As  if  to  atone  for 
the  suffering  that  his  wife  had  endured  while  living  — 
partly  on  account  of  his  own  irritability  —  he  wrote  the 
beautiful  tribute  to  her  now  found  in  his  Reminiscences 
and  planned  the  publication  of  her  Letters  and  Memorials* 

Not  much  is  to  be  said  of  the  last  years  of  Carlyle's 


30  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

life.  He  was,  as  he  described  himself  to  Emerson,  "a 
gloomily  serious,  silent,  and  sad  old  man."  Notable 
honours  came  to  him  in  1874  from  the  German  Emperor, 
and  from  Disraeli,  the  prime  minister  of  England.  On 
his  eightieth  birthday  men  of  letters  throughout  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking world  did  honour  to  him.  He  died  Febru- 
ary 4,  1 88 1,  and  was  buried  —  not  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  where  his  friend  Dean  Stanley  wished  him  to  be 
—  but  in  the  little  graveyard  at  Ecclefechan,  where  he 
had  so  often  paused  in  his  solitary  walks  and  thought  of 
the  mysteries  of  human  life. 

II.    Carlyle's  Character  and  Influence 

One  of  the  keenest  and  most  unsympathetic  of  Carlyle's 
recent  critics  closes  his  essay  with  the  statement  that  his 
work  is  everywhere  "  penetrated  with  the  power  of  a  pro- 
digious personality."  Unbalanced  though  he  was,  he 
stands  out  in  English  literary  history  as  one  of  the 
most  striking  and  gigantic  figures.  He  has,  as  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs has  said,  many  of  the  elements  that  went  to  the 
making  of  the  old  Vikings  and  the  Norse  gods.  Only 
Swift,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  produces  such  a  sense 
of  strength  and  crude  titanic  force. 

If  one  seeks,  as  Cariyle  does  in  the  case  of  Burns,  for 
the  source  of  the  tragedy  of  his  life  —  and  tragical  in 
a  sense  his  life  was  —  he  will  find  it  in  his  impatience. 
The  smallest  things  of  life  irritated  him  beyond  measure  ; 
we  hear  of  the  "  demon  fowls  "  of  his  neighbour's  yard, 


Introduction  31 

of  the  "devil's  brood  of  house  servants,"  the  "annual 
earthquake  of  house  cleaning."  He  was  also  cross  and 
disagreeable  in  his  conversation.  Mrs.  Carlyle  got  so 
used  to  his  "  growls,"  that  she  did  not  feel  natural  when 
they  were  not  forthcoming.  Even  his  best  friends  tired 
him,  after  a  little.  Emerson,  at  fiiat  "a  sky  messenger," 
became  in  his  mind  an  apostle  of  moonshine  and  tran- 
scendental mist ;  John  Stuart  Mill,  whose  friendship  was 
the  inspiration  of  his  early  London  life,  came  to  be  con- 
sidered "  a  poor  man  " ;  while  Tennyson,  whom  he  had 
recognized  as  "  a  poet  of  the  eternal  melodies  "  in  the 
1842  edition  of  his  poems,  could  never  in  his  later  work 
attract  his  admiration.  Carlyle's  work  irritated  him  ;  he 
groaned  under  it  as  under  an  intolerable  burden.  His  Fred- 
erick the  Great  was  a  "  thirteen  years'  war,"  his  Cromwell, 
"  four  years  of  abstruse  toil,  obscure  speculation,  futile 
wrestling  and  misery."  He  was  impatient  with  his  age. 
As  his  friend  John  Sterling  said,  "  Wanting  peace  himself, 
his  fierce  dissatisfaction  fixes  on  all  that  is  weak,  corrupt, 
and  imperfect  around  him ;  and  instead  of  a  calm  and 
steady  co-operation  with  all  those  who  are  endeavouring  to 
apply  the  highest  ideas  as  remedies  for  the  worst  evils,  he 
holds  himself  aloof  in  savage  isolation."  He  knew  nothing 
of  what  it  means  either  for  the  individual  or  the  nation  to 
work  within  limitations.  He  found  a  cure  for  the  evils  of 
his  age,  either  by  trying  to  bring  back  some  age  that  was 
passed  away,  or  by  evoking  some  sudden  transformation. 
Prophet  as  he  was  of  a  higher  social  order  in  which 
justice  and  humanity  would  prevail,  he  had  little  sympathy 


32  Carlyle's  Essay  on   Burns 

with  men  like  Lord  Shaftesbury  or  Charles  Kingsley,  who 
prepared  the  way  for  gradual  changes.  Earnest  as  he 
was  to  bring  about  "  an  exodus  from  Houndsditch,"  — 
an  establishment  of  faith  on  a  proper  basis  rather  than 
on  the  prevailing  creeds,  —  he  was  yet  thoroughly  im- 
patient with  the  authors  of  Essays  and  Reviews,  or  the 
well-trained  scientists  who  were  doing  much  to  make 
such  an  exodus  possible.  The  master  achievements  of  his 
own  time —  the  triumph  of  democracy  and  the  extension 
of  the  scientific  spirit  and  of  scientific  methods  into  all 
departments  of  human  activity  —  excited  in  him  naught 
but  disgust.  In  a  word,  he  had  not  learned  the  wisdom 
of  Paracelsus  :  — 

"  To  trace  love's  faint  beginnings  in  mankind, 
.     .     .     .     to  sympathize,  be  proud 
Of  their  half-reasons,  faint  aspirings,  dim 
Struggles  for  truth,  their  poorest  fallacies, 
Their  prejudice  and  fears,  and  cares  and  doubts; 
All  with  a  touch  of  nobleness,  despite 
Their  error,  upward  tending,  although  weak." 

All  of  which  is  to  say  that  Carlyle  had  the  tempera- 
ment of  a  prophet,  rather  than  the  ability  to  construct 
and  organize  institutions  and  forces.  He  had  to  a  far 
greater  degree  than  Scott  imbibed  "  the  Presbyterian 
gospel  of  John  Knox."  In  the  intellectual  expression 
of  his  religious  ideals  he  had  gone  far  beyond  the  Kirk 
of  his  father,  being  influenced  to  a  large  degree  by  Ger- 
man philosophy  and  literature;  but  the  spirit  of  the 
Scotch  Kirk,  and  through  that  of  the  old  Hebrew  Theoc- 


Introduction  23 

racy,  was  the  foundation  of  all  his  thinking  and  living. 
"  Though  he  never  wagged  his  pow  in  an  orthodox  pulpit, 
he  was  a  preacher  of  righteousness  all  his  days."  Goethe, 
with  that  rare  penetration  so  characteristic  of  him,  fixed 
upon  Carlyle's  chief  contribution  to  modern  life  when 
he  spoke  of  him  as  a  moral  force.  He  had  the  look  of 
a  prophet,  as  all  must  have  felt  who  ever  looked  at  the 
great  portrait  by  Millaisin  the  National  Gallery  at  Lon- 
don — "  his  tumbled  hair  and  shaggy  beard,  his  gaunt 
face,  his  sunken  cheeks  and  deep-set,  wonderful  eyes." 
Literature  was  only  valuable  to  him  as  the  expression  of 
moral  ideas.  "Literary  men,"  he  says,  "are  the  ap- 
pointed interpreters  of  this  Divine  Idea  ;  a  perpetual 
priesthood,  one  might  say,  standing  forth,  generation 
after  generation,  as  the  dispensers  and  living  type  of 
God's  everlasting  wisdom." 

It  is  from  this  essentially  religious  standpoint  that  all 
his  books  are  written.  He  was'  not  a  man  to  make  dis- 
tinctions, he  overstated  things,  but  the  overruling  passion 
of  his  life  was  to  arouse  the  people  of  England  to  a  sense 
of  the  reality  of  a  just  and  sovereign  God.  He  had,  says 
Mr.  William  Vaughan  Moody,  "  an  intense  moral  indigna- 
tion against  whatever  is  weak,  or  false,  or  mechanical ; 
an  intense  moral  enthusiasm  for  whatever  is  sincere  and 
heroically  forceful."  He  attacked  the  materialism  of  his 
age  because  he  saw  in  it  the  deadening  of  the  spiritual 
forces  of  man.  He  had  little  patience  with  science  be- 
cause it  seemed  to  him  to  try  to  do  away  with  the  infinite 
wonder  and  miracle  of  God's  universe.  He  opposed 
carlyle's  essay  6*n  burns  —  3 


34  Carlyle' s  Essay  on  Burns 

democracy  because  it  seemed  to  put  the  voice  of  the 
multitude  above  the  voice  of  the  inspired  leader  or  of 
God  himself.  He  set  himself  squarely  against  both  the 
Oxford  and  Broad  Church  movements  because  they 
seemed  to  him  to  lack  the  moral  fibre  and  the  religious 
fervour  of  the  sterner  religion  of  Puritanism.  It  is  easy 
to  see  now  that  Carlyle  was  wrong  in  his  interpretation  of 
all  these  contemporary  movements,  and  yet  the  value  of 
his  work  in  pointing  out  the  dangers  inherent  in  them  can 
never  be  overestimated.  Undoubtedly  the  great  danger  of 
modern  life  has  been  its  tendency  to  substitute  mechanics 
for  dynamics — institutions,  methods,  societies,  ballot- 
boxes,  constitutions,  have,  at  times,  taken  the  place  of  spir- 
itual forces.  "  There  is  a  science,"  says  Carlyle,  "  which 
treats  of,  and  practically  addresses,  the  primary,  unmodi- 
fied forces  and  energies  of  man,  the,  mysterious  springs 
of  Love,  and  Fear,  and  Wonder,  of  Enthusiasm,  Poetry, 
Religion,  all  which  have  a  truly  vital  and  infinite  char- 
acter." "The  truth  is  men  have  lost  their  belief  in  the 
Invisible,  and  believe,  and  hope,  and  work,  only  in  the 
Visible ;  or  to  speak  it  in  other  words :  This  is  not  a 
Religious  age.  Only  the  material,  the  immediately  prac- 
tical, not  the  divine  and  spiritual,  is  important  to  us."  It 
is  this  intense  zeal  for  moral  power,  as  the  proper  basis 
of  all  genuine  progress  that  makes  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, not  merely  a  study  in  history,  but  a  dramatic 
presentation  of  the  truth  that  God's  laws  must  be  obeyed 
if  a  nation  would  prosper.  Cromwell  was  a  great  hero 
because  on  battlefield  and  in  senate  council  he  found 


Introduction  35 

no  higher  authority  than  the  words  of  the  Hebrew 
psalmist  or  prophet.  Even  Frederick  the  Great,  who  had 
little  of  Cromwell's  positive  faith  in  God,  became,  by 
reason  of  the  very  forcefulness  of  his  personality,  the 
means  through  which  the  Almighty  spoke  to  men.  Past 
and  Present,  Chartism,  and  even  the  bitter  Latter  Day 
Pamphlets  are  all  characterized  by  the  intense  vigour 
of  a  man  who  is  delivering  the  message  of  God,  who  will 
not  look  with  favour  upon  injustice  or  man's  inhumanity 
to  man. 

It  is  the  vigour  of  his  moral  teaching  that  has  made 
Carlyle  such  a  force  in  his  century.  Scientists  like  Tyn- 
dall  and  Huxley,  even  while  chafing  under  his  criticism, 
left  notable  expressions  of  their  indebtedness  to  him,  both 
as  a  teacher  and  as  an  inspiring  voice.  Statesmen  who 
were  repelled  by  his  impatient  scolding  found  in  his  work 
an  inspiration  they  found  nowhere  else.  Leaders  of  the 
Broad  Church  movement,  though  receiving  little  sympa- 
thy from  him,  looked  upon  Sartor  Resartus,  along  with 
Tennyson's  In  Memoriam,  as  an  artistic  setting  forth  of 
the  essential  points  in  which  they  believed.  Even  the 
most  intense  believers  in  democracy  are  now  seeing  the 
truth  of  Carlyle's  criticism,  and  are  fearful  that  his 
auguries  may  be  realized. 

Carlyle  was  not,  however,  a  mere  teacher.  He  was 
one  of  the  greatest  of  artists.  He  is  extravagant  and 
eccentric  in  his  language  as  in  his  thought.  At  its  worst 
his  style  is  "barbarous,  conceited,  uncouth,  and  mysti- 
cal/ '  but  at  its  best  it  is  "  surcharged  with  feeling,  har- 


36  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

mony,  and  colour."  The  permanent  justification  of  it 
—  unusual  and  eccentric  as  it  may  seem  —  is  in  the 
words  he  wrote  to  John  Sterling,  who  had  remonstrated 
with  him  upon  it.  "  A  man  has  but  a  certain  strength ; 
imperfections  cling  to  him,  which  if  he  wait  till  he 
have  brushed  off  entirely,  he  will  spin  forever  on  his  axis, 
advancing  nowhither.  .  .  .  The  poor  people  seem  to 
think  a  style  can  be  put  on  or  put  off,  not  like  a  skin,  but 
like  a  coat."  Partly  his  inheritance  from  the  rude  but 
impressive  speech  of  his  Annandale  father,  partly  the  re- 
sult of  his  reading  in  German  literature  and  in  Swift  and 
Sterne,  and  yet  more  than  all  these,  the  natural  vehicle 
of  his  own  message,  his  style  must  be  taken  for  what  it  is 
and  not  judged  by  other  standards.  The  strong  points 
of  it  may  be  seen  by  the  students  of  this  essay,  although 
it  has  not  all  the  marks  of  his  later  style.  The  essay  is 
almost  entirely  free  from  the  mannerisms  and  extrava- 
gances which  Carlyle  caught  from  Jean  Paul  Richter. 
Special  attention  may  be  called  to  his  vocabulary  and  to 
his  figurative  language.  There  are  in  this  essay  passages 
that  have  the  qualities  of  the  best  lyrics.  The  passages 
setting  forth  Burns's  penetration  and  imagination  are  par- 
ticularly applicable  to  his  own  style.  Carlyle  had  an  im- 
agination —  the  power  to  realize  things  vividly  —  such  as 
no  other  Victorian  writer  had.  It  is  this  that  makes  his 
descriptions  of  scenes  so  lifelike,  his  narrations  of  inci- 
dents so  dramatic,  and  his  portraits  of  men  so  —  one 
almost  says  —  perfect. 


Introduction  37 

III.    The  Essay  on  Burns 

Carlyle's  first  work,  after  getting  settled  in  Craigenput- 
tock  —  even  while  "  the  premises  were  still  littered  with 
dirt  "  —  was  to  write  the  Essay  on  Burns.  In  a  letter  to 
his  brother  John  (June  10,  1828),  he  says,  "  Lockhart 
had  written  a  kind  of  Life  of  Burns,  and  men  in  general 
were  making  another  uproar  about  Burns.  It  is  this  book, 
a  trivial  one  enough,  which  I  am  to  pretend  reviewing." 
The  essay  was  finished  September  15,  1828,  and  published 
in  the  December  number  of  the  Edinburgh  Review.  In 
the  meantime,  Jeffrey  had  objected  to  certain  features  of 
the  essay  and  Carlyle  had  given  his  consent  to  making  a 
few  changes.  When  the  proof  came,  however,  he  found 
"the  first  part  cut  all  into  shreds — the  body  of  a  quad- 
ruped with  the  head  of  a  bird,  a  man  shortened  by  cutting 
out  his  thighs  and  fixing  the  knee-caps  on  the  hips." 
Jeffrey  complained  that  the  article  was  too  long  and  dif- 
fuse ;  he  insisted  that  it  must  be  cut  down  —  cut  down, 
perhaps,  to  half  its  dimensions.  He  remonstrated  with 
him  for  the  Germanisms.  "  I  wish  to  God  I  could  per- 
suade you  to  fling  away  these  affectations  and  be  content 
to  write  like  your  famous  countrymen  of  all  ages."  Car- 
lyle wrote  back  that  the  article  must  stand  as  he  wrote  it 
or  be  cancelled  entirely,  and  Jeffrey  submitted.  There 
are  undoubtedly  traces  of  Jeffrey's  editing  even  now, 
especially  in  the  first  part.  When  Carlyle  corrected  his 
essays  he  added  three  paragraphs  (see  Notes),  but  in 
the  main  the  essay,  as  we  have  it  now,  is  the  essay  as 


38  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

Carlyle  wrote  it  in  the  summer  of  1828  —  the  essay 
in  which  he  gave  his  first  interpretation  of  a  British 
author,  his  previous  articles  having  been  written  upon 
German  authors. 

So  much  for  the  literary  history  of  the  essay.  It  may 
readily  be  seen  from  the  sketches  of  their  lives  that  Car- 
lyle was  especially  fitted  to  interpret  Burns.  They  were 
both  lowland  Scotch  and  had  been  brought  up  under 
practically  the  same  circumstances.  As  Froude  says, 
"  The  outward  circumstances  of  Burns's  life,  his  origin, 
his  early  surroundings,  his  situation  as  a  man  of  genius, 
born  in  a  farmhouse  not  many  miles  distant,  among  the 
same  people  and  the  same  associations  that  were  so  famil- 
iar to  himself,  could  not  fail  to  make  him  think  often  of 
himself  while  he  was  writing  about  his  countryman." 
Carlyle  undoubtedly  took  a  certain  national  pride  in  this 
essay.  It  is,  as  Dr.  Garnett  says,  "  the  very  voice  of  Scot- 
land, expressive  of  all  her  passionate  love  and  tragic  sor- 
row for  her  darling  son." 

Aside  from  his  national  interest  in  Burns,  Carlyle  had  a 
genuine  admiration  for  the  Scotch  poet.  Burns  was  the 
only  eighteenth  or  nineteenth  century  writer,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Dr.  Johnson,  that  he  praised  highly.  In  Heroes 
and  Hero-  Worship  he  refers  to  him  as  "  the  greatest  soul 
in  Britain  in  the  eighteenth  century,"  and  in  a  letter  to 
Goethe,  he  said  :  "  Perhaps  you  have  never  heard  of  this 
Burns  ;  and  yet  he  was  a  man  of  the  most  decisive  genius, 
but  born  in  the  rank  of  a  peasant.  We  English,  especially 
we  Scotch,  love  Burns  more  than  any  other  Poet  we  have 


Introduction  39 

had  for  centuries."  In  his  later  life,  when  he  had  come 
to  have  less  and  less  sympathy  with  "the  thing  called 
poetry,"  he  retained  an  affectionate  interest  in  Burns ; 
in  their  old  age  he  and  his  wife  read  his  songs  out 
of  Thomson's  Scottish  Airs,  He  was  aware  of  Burns's 
faults ;  he  had  a  faith  such  as  he  says  Burns  did  not  have, 
but  despite  their  differences,  he  loved  him  and  has  given 
the  true  interpretation  of  his  fellow-countryman.  After 
seventy-five  years  this  essay  remains  the  best  interpre- 
tation of  Burns.  Lockhart  said  in  the  preface  to  his  Life 
of  Burns,  "As  to  criticism  on  Burns's  poetry,  no  one  can 
suppose  that  anything  of  consequence  remains  to  be  added 
on  a  subject  that  has  engaged  the  pens  of  Mackenzie, 
Scott,  Jeffrey,  Walker,  Wordsworth,  Campbell,  and  Wil- 
son," and  yet  this  essay  of  Carlyle's  was  to  be  written  that 
very  year.  In  recent  years  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  and 
Mr.  Henley  have  set  forth  the  worst  features  of  Burns's 
character  in  all  their  baldness,  but  we  feel  that  Carlyle 
has  given  the  true  proportion  between  Burns's  virtues 
and  faults  in  a  way  that  no  other  man  has  done. 

The  essay  is  notable  as  a  type  of  the  best  literary  criti- 
cism. Criticism  with  Carlyle  is  no  "cold  business"  —  it 
is  the  genuine  and  heartfelt  appreciation  of  a  man's  work ; 
it  is  concerned  not  so  much  with  what  is  done  wrong  as 
with  what  is  done  right.  He  had  little  use  for  the 
judicial  criticism  that  prevailed  in  contemporary  reviews. 
Furthermore,  he  has  stated  clearly  his  conception  of 
poetry.  Later  in  life  he  had  less  and  less  sympathy 
with  poetry,  but  here,  as  in  his  essays  on  Goethe  and 


40  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

in  his  lecture  on  the  Hero  as  Poet,  he  has  given  the 
poet  his  true  place  in  the  life  of  the  world,  above  that 
of  conquerors  and  legislators.  His  interpretation  of  the 
poet's  need  for  sincerity,  for  depth  of  vision  and  for  vivid 
imagination,  and  his  strong  denunciation  of  affectation  in 
literature  should  be  definitely  fixed  in  mind.  He  is  one- 
sided in  his  views  of  Keats  and  Scott,  but  one  forgets  that 
in  reading  the  very  carefully  wrought  out  analysis  of 
Burns's  songs. 

Significant,  also,  is  the  moral  teaching  of  the  essay ;  it 
is  an  expression  of  Carlyle's  own  view  of  human  life.  "  It 
is  subjective  as  well  as  objective;  it  is  lyrical  as  well  as 
demonstrative ;  it  is  Carlyle  as  well  as  Burns."  "  The 
Essay  on  Burns"  says  Mr.  John  Morley,  "  had  the  same 
effect  on  us  at  Oxford  as  had  Cardinal  Newman's  ser- 
mons." As  has  been  seen  from  the  biographical  sketch 
of  Carlyle,  he  had  just  passed  through  a  spiritual  crisis  in 
which  his  fate  had  become  fixed  and  his  grip  on  things 
thoroughly  established.  In  interpreting  the  strong  and 
the  weak  points  in  Burns's  character  he  was  giving  ex- 
pression—  in  an  indirect  rather  than  in  a  direct  way — to 
his  own  newly  found  faith.  Many  of  the  same  ideas  were 
to  be  expressed  in  his  later  works,  but  in  this  essay  they 
are  stated  with  a  "  sweet  reasonableness "  not  always 
characteristic  of  him.  There  is  a  certain  poise  in  his 
thought,  at  times  a  lyrical  movement  in  his  style  that  he 
did  not  often  attain. 


Introduction  41 

IV.     Robert  Burns 

Carlyle  in  his  essay  has  given,  as  he  intimates  in  his 
introductory  paragraphs,  "a  delineation  of  the  resulting 
character  as  a  living  unity  "  ;  he  has  painted  a  portrait  of 
Burns,  rather  than  given  the  details  or  even  well-defined 
periods  of  his  life.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  as  a  sup- 
plement to  the  essay,  to  give  the  most  significant  facts 
of  Burns's  life. 

Robert  Burns,  the  son  of  William  Burness  and  Agnes 
Brown,  was  born  near  Alloway  Kirk  —  two  miles  from 
Ayr  and  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  banks  of  bonny 
Doon  —  January  25,  1759.  His  father  was  at  that  time  a 
gardener  and  a  small  farmer  living  in  an  humble  clay-built 
cottage  of  his  own  make.  "  My  father,"  he  says,  in  a 
letter  to  Dr.  Moore,  "  was  of  the  north  of  Scotland,  the 
son  of  a  farmer,  and  was  thrown  by  early  misfortunes  on 
the  world  at  large,  wnere  in  many  years'  wanderings  and 
sojournings  he  picked  up  a  pretty  large  quantity  of  obser- 
vation and  experience,  to  which  I  am  indebted  for  most 
of  my  little  pretensions  of  wisdom."  He  emphasizes  his 
father's  knowledge  of  men,  their  manners,  and  their  ways, 
and  his  stubborn,  ungainly  integrity.  He  was  a  better 
educated  man  than  Carlyle's  father,  though  not  so  indus- 
trious or  so  practical.  He  read  books  and  wrote  a  good 
English  style  and  was  for  several  years  the  only  teacher 
his  boys  had.  Burns  has  embalmed  his  memory  —  as  well 
as  that  of  his  mother,  sisters,  and  brothers — in  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night,  an   idealized  version  of  what  was  the 


42  Carlyle's  Essay   on   Burns 

daily  life  of  Mount  Oliphant  and  Lochlea.  His  mother, 
"  a  patient,  virtuous,  industrious  housewife,"  had  a  more 
equable  temper ;  her  memory  was  stored  with  old  tradi- 
tions, songs,  and  ballads  —  an  influence  further  stimulated 
by  an  old  woman  who  resided  in  the  family  and  who  had 
"  the  largest  collection  in  the  country  of  tales  and  songs 
concerning  the  devils,  ghosts,  fairies,  brownies,  witches, 
warlocks,  .  .  .  enchanted  towers,  dragons,  and  other 
trumpery." 

Burns  and  his  brother  Gilbert  were  fortunate  in  having 
as  a  teacher  for  two  or  three  years  John  Murdoch,  who, 
besides  being  a  man  of  excellent  character,  had  good 
sense.  Two  points  in  his  training  of  boys  have  come  to 
be  stressed  in  modern  schools  —  his  training  of  pupils  to 
a  sense  of  the  meaning  and  value  of  words  by  constant 
practice  in  composition,  and  to  a  careful  study  of  a  col- 
lection of  the  best  English  poems,  such  as  those  of  Addi- 
son, Dryden,  Thomson,  etc.  He  also  interested  them  in 
the  books  of  his  own  library,  one  of  the  most  inspiring  of 
which  was  the  Life  of  William  Wallace,  which,  in  the 
language  of  Burns,  poured  a  Scottish  prejudice  into  his 
veins  which  "  will  boil  long  there  till  the  flood-gates  of 
life  shut  in  eternal  rest."  Two  and  a  half  years  of  school- 
ing under  Murdoch  was  all  that  the  boys  had,  although 
they  snatched  a  few  weeks  now  and  then  from  their  hard 
work  on  the  farm  to  study  at  some  near-by  town.  Their 
father,  stern  though  he  was,  furnished  them  intellectual 
companionship.  One  feature  of  the  family's  life  is  left 
out  of  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night — their  eager  reading 


Introduction  43 

of  all  books  they  could  get  their  hands  on.  Burns  men- 
tions especially  Pope's  Homer,  Addison,  Allan  Ramsay, 
Stackhouse's  History  of  the  Bible,  Shakespeare,  and  above 
all  a  select  collection  of  English  songs.  "  The  collection 
of  songs  was  my  vade  mecum.  I  pored  over  them,  driv- 
ing my  cart,  or  walking  to  labour,  song  by  song,  verse  by 
verse ;  carefully  noting  the  true,  tender,  or  sublime,  from 
affectation  and  fustian." 

In  the  main,  however,  his  life  up  to  his  sixteenth  year 
was  one  of  very  plain  living  and  hard  work.  It  was 
inevitable  that  there  should  be  a*  reaction  from  the 
drudgery  and  sternness  of  this  life.  It  came  through  love 
and  poetry.  In  a  piece  of  prose  almost  idyllic,  he  has 
told  of  the  dawning  of  these  two  early  passions  :  "  You 
know,"  he  says,  "  our  country  custom  of  coupling  a  man 
and  woman  together  as  partners  in  the  labours  of  the 
harvest.  In  my  fifteenth  summer  my  partner  was  a 
bewitching  creature,  a  year  younger  than  myself.  My 
scarcity  of  English  denies  me  the  power  of  doing  her 
justice  in  that  language,  but  you  know  the  Scottish  idiom. 
She  was  a  bonnie,  sweet,  sonsie  lass.  In  short,  she,  alto- 
gether unwittingly  to  herself,  initiated*  me  in  that 
delicious  passion,  which,  in  spite  of  acid  disappointment, 
gin-horse  prudence,  and  book-worm  philosophy,  I  hold  to 
be  the  first  of  human  joys  here  below  !  How  she  caught 
the  contagion  I  cannot  tell.  .  .  .  Indeed,  I  did  not 
know  myself  why  I  liked  so  much  to  loiter  behind  with 
her  when  returning  in  the  evening  from  our  labours  ; 
why  the  tones  of  her  voice  made  my  heartstrings  thrill 


44  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

like  an  ^Eolian  harp ;  and  especially  why  my  pulse  beat 
such  a  furious  ratan  when  I  looked  and  fingered  over  her 
little  hand,  to  pick  out  the  cruel  nettle-stings  and  thistles. 
Among  her  love-inspiring  qualities,  she  sung  sweetly ;  and 
it  was  her  favourite  reel  to  which  I  attempted  giving  an 
embodied  vehicle  in  rhyme.  I  was  not  so  presumptuous 
as  to  imagine  that  I  could  make  verses  like  printed  ones, 
composed  by  men  who  read  Greek  and  Latin ;  but  my 
girl  sung  a  song  which  was  said  to  be  composed  by  a 
country  laird's  son,  on  one  of  his  father's  maids,  with 
whom  he  was  in  love ;  and  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  might 
not  rhyme  as  well  as  he ;  for,  excepting  that  he  could 
shear  sheep  and  cast  peats,  his  father  living  in  the  moor- 
lands, he  had  no  more  scholar- craft  than  myself.  Thus 
with  me  began  love  and  poetry." 

At  Mt.  Oliphant,  where  the  Burnses  lived  from  1766 
to  1777,  Robert  had  little  opportunity  for  social  life, 
but  at  Lochlea,  their  next  home,  he  found  many  jovial 
companions.  He  was  "in  the  secret  of  half  the  love 
affairs  of  the  parish  of  Tarbolton,"  and  was  a  member 
of  the  bachelor's  club,  — "  half  debating,  half  drink- 
ing club."  Later  he  became  an  enthusiastic  member 
of  the  Masonic  order,  of  which  he  was  the  laureate 
throughout  the  district.  The  spirit  of  fun  that  he 
speaks  of  in  the  Holy  Fair  was  having  its  full  sway, 
although  he  still  worked  with  his  father  and  brother  on 
the  farm.  He  determined  in  1781  to  go  to  Irvine  and 
learn  the  flax  dressing  trade  in  order  that  he  might  find 
a  readier  way  to  support  himself  in  marriage.     It  was  at 


Introduction  45 

this  place  that  he  entered  upon  the  period  of  dissipation 
that  Carlyle  characterizes  as  his  "  mud-bath.',  Here  in 
the  midst  of  a  general  rout  of  swaggering  and  dissipated 
men  he  met  Richard  Brown,  who,  says  Burns,  was  "  the 
only  man  I  ever  knew  who  was  a  greater  fool  than  my- 
self, where  woman  was  the  presiding  star."  Brown  spoke 
of  a  certain  fashionable  failing  with  levity,  which  hitherto 
"  I  had  regarded  with  horror."  Up  to  this  time,  if  we 
are  to  take  the  testimony  of  his  brother  Gilbert,  his  love 
affairs  had  been  characterized  by  the  strictest  rules  of 
modesty  and  virtue,  but  henceforth  his  career  is  one  of 
mingled  glory  and  dishonour.  He  returned  to  Lochlea 
after  disappointment  and  chagrin  in  1782,  only  to  find 
things  on  the  farm  going  wrong.  His  father  had  become 
involved  in  a  lawsuit  with  his  landlord  and  in  addition 
was  declining  in  health.  He  died  February,  1784,  of 
phthisical  consumption,  not  before  expressing  his  grave 
anxiety  for  the  future  career  of  his  son  Robert,  whose 
genius  he  had  already  discovered  and  for  whose  immoral- 
ity he  trembled. 

Three  months  before  the  death  of  their  father,  Gilbert 
and  Robert  rented  the  farm  of  Mossgiel,  —  one  hundred 
and  eighteen  acres,  two  miles  from  the  town  of  Mauchline, 
—  stocking  it  with  implements  that  they  had  saved  from 
the  wreck  of  the  old  farm.  They  set  about  their  work 
with  much  determination.  Robert  says,  "I  read  farming 
books,  I  calculated  crops ;  I  attended  markets."  But 
neither  of  the  two  brothers  was  a  very  successful  farmer ; 
the  soil  was  not  good  and  everything  went  against  them. 


46  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

Robert  found  refuge  from  his  life  of  drudgery  and  his 
disappointment  in  the  social  life  of  Mauchline.  He 
became  "amorist  at  large."  Robert  Louis  Stevenson, 
in  one  of  his  letters  speaking  of  Burns,  says,  "  I  made  a 
kind  of  chronological  table  of  his  various  loves  and  lusts 
and  have  been  comparatively  speechless  ever  since." 
The  most  significant  of  his  love  affairs  was  that  with  Jean 
Armour,  which  led  to  difficulties  with  the  courts  and  the 
church.  Partly  on  this  account  he  became  involved  in 
the  controversies  then  waging  between  the  Old  and  New 
Lights.  He  naturally  took  the  side  of  the  New  Lights, 
or  the  Liberals,  because  they  held  a  less  stern  view  of 
life  and  a  more  liberal  interpretation  of  religion. 

It  is  not  pleasant,  however,  to  dwell  on  the  external 
aspects  of  Burns's  life  at  this  period.  That  is  not  his  true 
life  at  Mossgiel.  With  the  decline  of  his  material  interests 
and  with  the  decline  of  moral  life  came  an  outburst  of 
song  from  the  autumn  of  1784  to  the  spring  of  1786  that 
has  been  rarely  equalled  in  English  literature.  "The 
fountains  of  poetry  were  unsealed  within,"  and  out  of 
the  bounding  vigour  as  well  as  the  haunting  melancholy 
of  his  life  came  nearly  all  of  the  poems  that  Carlyle 
especially  mentions  in  this  essay.  He  had  at  Lochlea 
written  a  few  notable  poems  —  The  Death  and  Dying 
Words  of  Poor  Mailie,  My  Nanie,  O,  %x\&Mary  Morison, 
But  now  "he  wrote  masterpiece  after  masterpiece  with 
a  rapidity  and  assurance,  a  command  of  means,  a  bril- 
liancy of  effect,  which  make  his  achievement  one  of  the 
most    remarkable   in    English   letters."      He    gradually 


Introduction  47 

ibrmed  the  ideal  of  becoming  a  poet  who  might  cele- 
brate the  glories  of  Scotland.  In  the  poem  of  The 
Vision  he  has  described  something  of  the  struggle  that 
went  on  in  his  mind.  To  him  sitting  "lanely  by  the  ingle- 
cheek,"  in  the  "  auld,  clay  biggin',"  after  a  hard  day's 
work,  thinking  of  how  he  had  wasted  his  time,  "half- 
mad,  half-fed,  half-sarkit,"  the  Scottish  Muse,  "a  tight, 
outlandish  hizzie,"  comes.  She  has  "  a  wildly-witty,  rustic 
grace  "  and,  greeting  him  as  her  own  inspired  bard,  she 
tells  him  that  she  has  watched  him  from  his  childhood 
and  has  heard  his  rudely  carolled  phrase  and  uncouth 
rhyme  and  that  he  will  live  to  celebrate  the  glories  of 
his  native  land.  Before  leaving  she  crowns  him  with 
a  wreath,  and  henceforth  he  is  a  dedicated  spirit. 

Everything  about  him  he  turned  into  materials  of  poetry 
—  his  revels  at  the  Poosie-Nansie  tavern  are  preserved 
in  The  Jolly  Beggars ;  his  quarrels  with  the  church  in 
poem  after  poem  of  brilliant  satire ;  the  customs  of  the 
people  in  Halloween;  his  farm  life,  present  and  past,  in  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  the  Field  Mouse,  the  Mountain 
Daisy ;  while  his  friends  —  brother  bards  and  patrons  — 
are  remembered  in  rollicking  and  brilliant  verse.  He  is 
in  full  possession  of  all  his  powers  —  pathos,  sympathy, 
keenness  of  vision,  humour.  The  poems  come  to  him 
sometimes  as  he  follows  the  plough,  and  he  goes  to  his 
little  garret  at  night  to  write  them  out.  He  repeats 
them  to  his  brother  as  they  go  about  their  work.  Most 
of  all,  they  come  to  him  as  he  walks  along  the  banks  of 
the   Ayr  in  silent    meditation   and    at   times    religious 


48  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

rapture.  The  muse  was  "  seldom  lazy  "  in  those  days  at 
Mossgiel. 

Great  as  these  poems  now  seem  to  us,  they  would 
perhaps  not  have  been  published  had  not  Burns,  dis- 
appointed with  his  farming  project  and  chagrined  at 
his  experiences  with  Jean  Armour,  decided  to  leave 
the  country  for  the  West  Indies.  At  his  friend  Gavin 
Hamilton's  suggestion,  he  offered  a  volume  of  his  poems 
to  a  printer  in  Kilmarnock.  He  was  generously  aided 
by  a  number  of  his  friends  in  Mauchline  and  Ayr  in 
securing  enough  subscriptions  to  guarantee  the  expenses 
of  the  volume.  While  the  poems  were  being  printed, 
during  the  summer  of  1786,  he  was  being  pursued  by 
Jean  Armour's  father  and  for  several  days  had  "  to  skulk 
from  covert  to  covert  under  all  the  terrors  of  a  fail," 
as  some  ill-advised  people  had  uncoupled  "  the  merciless 
pack  of  the  law  "at  his  heels.  In  these  days  of  despond- 
ency and  poverty  —  increased  by  the  death  of  Highland 
Mary  whom  in  the  meantime  he  had  met  and  become 
engaged  to  — he  wrote  one  of  his  saddest  poems,  his 
Farewell  to  Scotland. 

His  volume  of  poems  was  published  in  July,  1786,  and 
was  received  at  once  with  much  enthusiasm  by  the  peo- 
ple of  that  section  of  Scotland.  He  still  intended  to  sail, 
however,  and  had  engaged  passage  at  Greenock,  when  a 
letter  came  from  Dr.  Blacklock  that  opened  up  the  pros- 
pect of  a  new  world  to  him  in  Edinburgh.  He  had 
before  this  met  Professor  Dugald  Stewart,  a  distinguished 
professor  of  philosophy  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh, 


Introduction  49 

who  had  passed  a  very  favourable  verdict  on  his  poems. 
So  with  the  advice  of  friends  and  with  the  full  consent  of 
his  family,  he  set  out  for  the  Scotch  capital  on  Novem- 
ber 27.  His  journey  seems  to  have  been  something  of 
a  triumph,  the  rude  farmers  and  labourers,  at  the  given 
signal,  crowding  around  him  in  some  of  the  villages, 
through  which  he  passed.  This  early  volume  had  been 
read  not  only  by  the  gentry  but  by  plowboys  and  maid- 
servants, who,  according  to  Heron,  "  gladly  bestowed  the 
wages  which  they  earned  the  most  hardly,  and  which 
they  wanted  to  purchase  necessary  clothing,  if  they  might 
but  secure  the  works  of  Burns."  In  Edinburgh  he  went 
at  once  to  the  humble  lodgings  of  his  friend  John  Rich- 
mond, who  formerly  lived  at  Mauchline,  but  it  was  not 
long  before  such  prominent  noblemen  as  the  Earl  of  Glen- 
cairn  and  Henry  Erskine  and  such  men  of  letters  as 
Blair,  Robertson,  Dugald  Stewart,  and  Mackenzie,  and 
such  brilliant  women  as  the  Duchess  of  Gordon,  had  given 
him  a  hearty  welcome  to  the  most  exclusive  and  cultured 
circles  of  the  Scotch  capital.  He  at  once  arranged  on 
favorable  terms  for  a  second  edition  of  his  poems,  which 
he  dedicated  to  the  noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  the 
Caledonian  Hunt,  who  generously  subscribed  to  one  hun- 
dred copies.  There  is  no  doubt  of  the  fact  that  these 
poems  were  received  with  genuine  admiration  by  many 
men  of  that  illustrious  circle.  The  review  of  them  in  The 
Lounger  by  Henry  Mackenzie  is  a  notable  tribute  to  the 
originality  and  genius  of  these  poems.  And  yet  it  was 
not  so  much  the  poetry  of  Burns  as  his  personality  that 
carlyle's  essay  on  burns — 4 


50  Carlyle's  Essay  on   Burns 

excited  the  admiration  of  the  higher  classes.  In  the 
accounts  given  by  Professor  Walker  his  conversational 
powers  are  spoken  of:  "  In  conversation  he  was  powerful. 
His  conceptions  and  expressions  were  of  corresponding 
vigour,  and  on  all  subjects  were  as  remote  as  possible  from 
commonplace.  ...  In  no  part  of  his  manner  was  there 
the  slightest  degree  of  affectation,  nor  could  the  stranger 
have  suspected  from  anything  in  his  behaviour  or  conver- 
sation that  he  had  been  for  some  months  the  favourite  of 
all  the  fashionable  circles  of  the  metropolis."  The  young 
Scott,  in  a  passage  quoted  at  length  in  Carlyle's  essay, 
calls  attention  to  the  wonderful  eye  of  Burns,  which 
indicated  his  poetical  character  and  temperament :  "  It 
was  large,  and  of  a  dark  cast,  which  glowed  (I  say  liter- 
ally glowed)  when  he  spoke  with  feeling  or  interest.  I 
never  saw  such  another  eye  in  a  human  head,  though 
I  have  seen  the  most  distinguished  men  of  my  time." 

But  there  was  another  phase  of  his  life  that  indicates  the 
earthlier  side  of  his  character.  In  taverns  and  inns,  in 
lodges,  and  sometimes  in  the  lowest  quarters,  the  con- 
vivial element  in  his  character  came  to  the  surface. 
This  tendency  to  dissipation,  united  with  a  certain  spirit 
of  affected  independence,  caused  him  to  lose  the  favour  of 
some  of  those  who  had  hailed  him  as  a  prodigy.  During 
the  summer  of  1787  he  took  a  tour  throughout  Scotland, 
first  to  the  regions  of  the  border  country,  afterwards  to 
be  celebrated  by  Scott,  and  later,  after  spending  a  few 
weeks  at  his  home  in  Mossgiel,  to  the  Highlands,  where 
he  visited  some  of  the  most  famous  places  celebrated  in 


introduction  51 

Scotch  legend  and  tradition.  On  these  journeys  through 
Scotland,  he  was  interested  not  so  much  in  the  historical 
and  legendary  aspects  of  the  country,  as  in  the  songs 
that  he  picked  up  here  and  there  from  the  rudest  of 
people,  for  he  was  at  this  time  making  a  collection  of 
songs  for  Johnson's  Museum.  Returning  to  Edinburgh 
for  a  second  winter,  he  found  that  there  had  been  a  re- 
action against  him  among  the  circles  in  which  he  had 
moved.  His  novelty  had  worn  off,  and  the  main  incident 
of  this  second  winter  was  his  Platonic  affair  with  Mrs. 
M'Lehose,  to  whom  he  wrote  some  of  his  most  fulsome 
and  least  genuine  letters,  and  one  of  his  finest  lyrics,  Ae 
Fond  Kiss. 

He  made  out  of  his  Edinburgh  edition  of  the  poems 
about  ^500,  ^180  of  which  he  gave  to  his  mother.  The 
rest  he  used  to  purchase  a  farm  at  Ellisland,  near  Dumfries, 
where  he  proposed  to  settle  with  Jean  Armour  as  his  wife. 
After  some  very  hard  work  in  getting  his  house  and  farm 
in  order,  they  began  their  married  life  with  a  determina- 
tion to  make  the  best  out  of  the  succeeding  years.  The 
choosing  of  the  farm  seemed  to  be,  however,  as  his  friend 
Cunningham  said,  a  poet's  rather  than  a  farmer's  choice. 
As  at  Mossgiel,  he  was  unfortunate  and  soon  decided  to 
supplement  his  farm  work  with  the  income  of  an  excise- 
man. This  position  demanded  that  he  should  spend 
much  time  in  travelling  throughout  a  district  of  two  hun- 
dred miles  and  brought  him  in  contact  with  the  crudest 
and  most  dissipated  people.  He  still,  however,  as  he 
himself  said,  met  the  muses  now  and  then,  as  he  journeyed 


52  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns 

through  the  hills  of  Nithsdale,  just  as  he  used  to  do  on 
the  banks  of  the  Ayr.  It  was  in  his  solitary  walks  on  the 
banks  of  the  Nith  that  he  composed  Tarn  O'Shanter  and 
three  of  his  most  popular  songs,  Highlarid  Mary,  John 
Anderson  My  Jo,  and  Au Id  Lang  Syne. 

In  1 791  he  moved  to  Dumfries  to  take  a  more  profitable 
position  in  the  excise.  Carlyle  has  presented  so  vividly 
the  conclusion  of  Burns's  life  that  little  need  be  said  here. 
He  worked  steadily  at  times  on  the  songs  for  Johnson's 
Museum  and  Thomson's  Scottish  Airs,  for  which  he 
wrote  nearly  three  hundred.  More  and  more,  however, 
he  became  involved  in  social  life  in  the  taverns.  The 
idlers  and  travelling  gentry  were  always  glad  to  have  a 
spirit  like  Burns  among  them  "  to  enliven  them  with  his 
wit  and  eloquence. "  He  became  involved  in  the  polit- 
ical troubles,  both  of  a  local  and  general  nature.  Al- 
though originally  a  Jacobite,  he  became  intensely 
interested  in  the  success  of  the  French  Revolution,  send- 
ing to  the  national  assembly  some  guns  that  he  had 
captured  at  Dumfries.  Indiscreet  in  his  utterances,  and 
sometimes  dissipated  in  his  life,  he  lost  the  respect  of 
the  neighbouring  gentry,  as  he  had  formerly  ceased  to  be 
respected  by  the  clergy  on  account  of  his  irreverent 
poems.  After  1794  his  health  began  to  decline,  and  the 
last  two  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  great  suffering, 
physical  and  mental.  On  his  deathbed  he  wrote  two  of 
the  saddest  letters  ever  written,  one  to  his  father-in-law, 
begging  him  to  help  his  wife,  who,  during  all  his  last 
years,  had  been  a  genuine  heroine,  and  the  other  to  his 


Introduction  53 

friend  Thomson  :  "  After  all  my  boasted  independence, 
cursed  necessity  compels  me  to  implore  you  for  five 
pounds.  A  cruel  wretch  of  a  haberdasher,  to  whom  I 
owe  an  account,  taking  it  into  his  head  that  I  am  dying, 
has  commenced  a  process,  and  will  infallibly  put  me  into 
jail.  Do,  for  God's  sake,  send  me  that  sum,  and  that  by 
return  of  post.  Forgive  me  this  earnestness,  but  the 
horrors  of  a  jail  have  made  me  half  distracted."  A  few 
days  after  that  (July  21,  1796)  he  died  and  was  buried 
in  Dumfries. 


ESSAY   ON    BURNS 

Edinburgh  Review,    No.  96.       7^he  Life  of  Robert  Burns.      By 
J.  G.  Lockhart,  LL.B.     Edinburgh,  1828. 

In  the  modern  arrangements  of  society,  it  is  no  un- 
common thing  that  a  man  of  genius  must,  like  Butler, 
"  ask  for  bread  and  receive  a  stone  "  ;  for,  in  spite  of  our 
grand  maxim  of  supply  and  demand,  it  is  by  no  means  the 
highest  excellence  that  men  are  most  forward  to  recognize.  5 
The  inventor  of  a  spinning-jenny  is  pretty  sure  of  his  re- 
ward in  his  own  day  ;  but  the  writer  of  a  true  poem,  like  the 
apostle  of  a  true  religion,  is  nearly  as  sure  of  the  contrary. 
We  do  not  know  whether  it  is  not  an  aggravation  of  the 
injustice,  that  there  is  generally  a  posthumous  retribution.  10 
Robert  Burns,  in  the  course  of  Nature,  might  yet  have 
been  living  ;  but  his  short  life  was  spent  in  toil  and  penury  ; 
and  he  died,  in  the  prime  of  his  manhood,  miserable  and 
neglected  :  and  yet  already  a  brave  mausoleum  shines  over 
his  dust,  and  more  than  one  splendid  monument  has  been  15 
reared  in  other  places  to  his  fame  ;  the  street  where  he  lan- 
guished in  poverty  is  called  by  his  name  ;  the  highest  per- 
sonages in  our  literature  have  been  proud  to  appear  as  his 
commentators  and  admirers ;  and  here  is  the  sixth  narra- 
tive of  his  Life  that  has  been  given  to  the  world  !  20 

55 


56  Essay  on  Burns 

Mr.  Lockhart  thinks  it  necessary  to  apologize  for  this 
new  attempt  on  such  a  subject :  but  his  readers,  we 
believe,  will  readily  acquit  him  ;  or,  at  worst,  will  censure 
only  the  performance  of  his  task,  not  the  choice  of  it. 
5  The  character  of  Burns,  indeed,  is  a  theme  that  cannot 
easily  become  either  trite  or  exhausted  ;  and  will  probably 
gain  rather  than  lose  in  its  dimensions  by  the  distance  to 
which  it  is  removed  by  Time.  No  man,  it  has  been  said, 
is  a  hero  to  his  valet ;  and  this  is  probably  true  ;  but  the 

10  fault  is  at  least  as  likely  to  be  the  valet's  as  the  hero's. 
For  it  is  certain,  that  to  the  vulgar  eye  few  things  are 
wonderful  that  are  not  distant.  It  is  difficult  for  men  to 
believe  that  the  man,  the  mere  man  whom  they  see,  nay, 
perhaps  painfully  feel,  toiling  at  their  side   through   the 

15  poor  jostlings  of  existence,  can  be  made  of  finer  clay  than 
themselves.  Suppose  that  some  dining  acquaintance  of 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy's,  and  neighbour  of  John  a  Combe's,  had 
snatched  an  hour  or  two  from  the  preservation  of  his  game, 
and  written  us  a  Life  of  Shakespeare  !    What  dissertations 

20  should  we  not  have  had,  —  not  on  Hamlet  and  The 
Tempest,  but  on  the  wool-trade,  and  deer  stealing,  and 
the  libel  and  vagrant  laws  ;  and  how  the  Poacher  became  a 
Player;  and  how  Sir  Thomas  and  Mr.  John  had  Chris- 
tian bowels,  and  did  not  push  him  to  extremities  !     In  like 

25  manner,  we  believe,  with  respect  to  Burns,  that  till  the 
companions  of  his  pilgrimage,  the  Honourable  ExciseCom- 
missioners,  and  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Caledonian  Hunt, 
and  the  Dumfries  Aristocracy,  and  all  the  Squires  and 
Earls,  equally  with  the  Ayr  Writers,  and  the  New  and  Old 


Essay  on  Burns  57 

Light  Clergy,  whom  he  had  to  do  with,  shall  have  become 
invisible  in  the  darkness  of  the  Past,  or  visible  only  by 
light  borrowed  from  his  juxtaposition,  it  will  be  difficult 
to  measure  him  by  any  true  standard,  or  to  estimate  what 
he  really  was  and  did,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  for  his  5 
country  and  the  world.  It  will  be  difficult,  we  say ;  but 
still  a  fair  problem  for  literary  historians ;  and  repeated 
attempts  will  give  us  repeated  approximations. 

His  former  Biographers  have  done  something,  no 
doubt,  but  by  no  means  a  great  deal,  to  assist  us.  Dr.  10 
Currie  and  Mr.  Walker,  the  principal  of  these  writers, 
have  both,  we  think,  mistaken  one  essentially  important 
thing :  Their  own  and  the  world's  true  relation  to  their 
author,  and  the  style  in  which  it  became  such  men  to 
think  and  to  speak  of  such  a  man.  Dr.  Currie  loved  the  15 
poet  truly ;  more  perhaps  than  he  avowed  to  his  readers, 
or  even  to  himself;  yet  he  everywhere  introduces  him  with 
a  certain  patronizing,  apologetic  air ;  as  if  the  polite  public 
might>  think  it  strange  and  half  unwarrantable  that  he, 
a  man  of  science,  a  scholar  and  gentleman,  should  do  20 
such  honour  to  a  rustic.  In  all  this,  however,  we  readily 
admit  that  his  fault  was  not  want  of  love,  but  weakness  of 
faith  ;  and  regret  that  the  first  and  kindest  of  all  our  poet's 
biographers  should  not  have  seen  farther,  or  believed  more 
boldly  what  he  saw.  Mr.  Walker  offends  more  deeply  in  25 
the  same  kind :  and  both  err  alike  in  presenting  us  with  a 
detached  catalogue  of  his  several  supposed  attributes,  vir- 
tues and  vices,  instead  of  a  delineation  of  the  resulting 
character  as  a  living  unity.     This,  however,  is  not  paint- 


58  Essay  on  Burns 

ing  a  portrait ;  but  gauging  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  several  features,  and  jotting  down  their  dimensions  in 
arithmetical  ciphers.  Nay,  it  is  not  so  much  as  that :  for 
we  are  yet  to  learn  by  what  arts  or  instruments  the  mind 
5  could  be  so  measured  and  gauged. 

Mr.  Lockhart,  we  are  happy  to  say,  has  avoided  both 
these  errors.  He  uniformly  treats  Burns  as  the  high  and 
remarkable  man  the  public  voice  has  now  pronounced 
him  to  be  :  and  in  delineating  him,  he  has  avoided  the 

10  method  of  separate  generalities,  and  rather  sought  for 
characteristic  incidents,  habits,  actions,  sayings ;  in  a 
word,  for  aspects  which  exhibit  the  whole  man,  as  he 
looked  and  lived  among  his  fellows.  The  book  accord- 
ingly, with  all   its   deficiencies,  gives   more   insight,  we 

15  think,  into  the  true  character  of  Burns,,  than  any  prior 
v     biography  :  though,  being  written  on  the  very  popular  and 
condensed  scheme  of  an  article  for   Constable's  Miscel- 
lany, it  has  less  depth  than  we  could  have  wished  and 
expected  from  a  writer  of  such   power ;  and  contains 

20  rather  more,  and  more  multifarious  quotations  than  be- 
long  of  right  to  an  original  production.  Indeed,  Mr. 
Lockhart's  own  writing  is  generally  so  good,  so  clear, 
direct  and  nervous,  that  we  seldom  wish  to  see  it  making 
place  for  another  man's.    However,  the  spirit  of  the  work 

25  is  throughout  candid,  tolerant  and  anxiously  conciliating ; 
compliments  and  praises  are  liberally  distributed,  on  all 
hands,  to  great  and  small ;  and,  as  Mr.  Morris  Birkbeck 
observes  of  the  society  in  the  backwoods  of  America, 
"  the  courtesies  of  polite  life  are  never  lost  sight  of  for  a 


Essay  on  Burns  59 

moment."  But  there  are  better  things  than  these  in  the 
volume;  and  we  can  safely  testify,  not  only  that  it  is 
easily  and  pleasantly  read  a  first  time,  but  may  even  be 
without  difficulty  read  again. 

Nevertheless,  we  are  far  from  thinking  that  the  prob-  5 
lem    of    Burns's   Biography  has    yet   been    adequately 
solved.     We   do  not   allude   so  much   to  deficiency  of 
facts  or  documents,  - —  though  of  these  we  are  still  every 
day  receiving  some  fresh  accession,  —  as  to  the  limited 
and  imperfect  application  of  them  to  the  great  end  of  10 
Biography.     Our  notions  upon  this  subject  may  perhaps 
appear  extravagant ;  but  if  an  individual  is  really  of  con- 
sequence enough  to  have  his  life  and  character  recorded 
for  public  remembrance,  we  have  always  been  of  opinion 
that  the  public  ought  to  be  made  acquainted  with  all  the  15 
inward  springs  and  relations  of  hio  character.     How  did 
the  world  and  man's   life,  from  his  particular   position, 
represent  themselves  to  his  mind?     How  did  coexisting 
circumstances   modify  him   from  without;   how  did  he 
modify  these  from  within?     With  what  endeavours  and 20 
what  efficacy  rule  over  them ;  with  what  resistance  and 
what  suffering  sink  under   them?     In  one  word,  what  f 
and  how  produced  was  the  effect  of  society  on  him  ;  what 
and  how  produced  was  his  effect  on  society?     He  who 
should  answer  these  questions,  in  regard  to  any  individ-  25 
ual,  would,  as  we  believe,  furnish  a  model  of  perfection 
in   Biography.      Few   individuals,   indeed,   can   deserve 
such  a  study ;  and  many  lives  will  be  written,  and,  for 
the  gratification  of  innocent  curiosity,  ought  to  be  writ- 


60  Essay  on  Burns 

ten,  and  read  and  forgotten,  which  are  not  in  this  sense 
biographies.  But  Burns,  if  we  mistake  not,  is  one  of 
these  few  individuals;  and  such  a  study,  at  least  with 
such  a  result,  he  has  not  yet  obtained.  Our  own  contri- 
5  butions  to  it,  we  are  aware,  can  be  but  scanty  and  feeble ; 
but  we  offer  them  with  good-will,  and  trust  they  may 
meet  with  acceptance  from  those  they  are  intended  for. 

Burns  first  came  upon  the  world  as  a  prodigy;  and 
was,  in  that   character,  entertained  by  it,  in  the   usual 

io  fashion,  with  loud,  vague,  tumultuous  wonder,  speedily 
subsiding  into  censure  and  neglect ;  till  his  early  and 
most  mournful  death  again  awakened  an  enthusiasm  for 
him,  which,  especially  as  there  was  now  nothing  to  be 
done,  and  much  to  be  spoken,  has  prolonged  itself  even 

15  to  our  own  time.  It  is  true,  the  "  nine  days  "  have  long 
since  elapsed ;  and  the  very  continuance  of  this  clamour 
proves  that  Burns  was  no  vulgar  wonder.  Accordingly, 
even  in  sober  judgements,  where,  as  years  passed  by,  he 
has  come  to  rest  more  and  more  exclusively  on  his  own 

20  intrinsic  merits,  and  may  now  be  well-nigh  shorn  of  that 
casual  radiance,  he  appears  not  only  as  a  true  British 
poet,  but  as  one  of  the  most  considerable  British  men  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  Let  it  not  be  objected  that  he 
did  little.     He  did  much,  if  we  consider  where  and  how. 

25  If  the  work  performed  was  small,  we  must  remember  that 
he  had  his  very  materials  to  discover ;  for  the  metal  he 
worked  in  lay  hid  under  the  desert  moor,  where  no  eye 
but  his  had  guessed  its  existence;  and  we  may  almost 


Essay  on  Burns  61 

say,  that  with  his  own  hand  he  had  to  construct  the  tools 
for  fashioning  it.  For  he  found  himself  in  deepest  obscu- 
rity, without  help,  without  instruction,  without  model ;  or 
with  models  only  of  the  meanest  sort.  An  educated  man 
stands,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst  of  a  boundless  arsenal  and  5 
magazine,  filled  with  all  the  weapons  and  engines  which 
man's  skill  has  been  able  to  devise  from  the  earliest  time ; 
and  he  works,  accordingly,  with  a  strength  borrowed  from 
all  past  ages.  How  different  is  his  state  who  stands  on 
the  outside  of  that  storehouse,  and  feels  that  its  gates  10 
must  be  stormed,  or  remain  forever  shut  against  him  ! 
His  means  are  the  commonest  and  rudest;  the  mere 
work  done  is  no  measure  of  his  strength.  A  dwarf  be- 
hind his  steam-engine  may  remove  mountains;  but  no 
dwarf  will  hew  them  down  with  a  pickaxe ;  and  he  must  15 
be  a  Titan  that  hurls  them  abroad  with  his  arms. 

It  is  in  this  last  shape  that  Burns  presents  himself. 
Born  in  an  age  the  most  prosaic  Britain  had  yet  seen,  and 
in  a  condition  the  most  disadvantageous,  where  his  mind, 
if  it  accomplished  aught,  must  accomplish  it  under  the  20 
pressure  of  continual  bodily  toil,  nay,  of  penury  and  de- 
sponding apprehension  of  the  worst  evils,  and  with  no 
furtherance  but  such  knowledge  as  dwells  in  a  poor  man's 
hut,  and  the  rhymes  of  a  Ferguson  or  Ramsay  for  his 
standard  of  beauty,  he  sinks  not  under  all  these  impedi-  25 
ments :  through  the  fogs  and  darkness  of  that  obscure 
region,  his  lynx  eye  discerns  the  true  relations  of  the 
world  and  human  life ;  he  grows  into  intellectual  strength, 
and  trains  himself  into  intellectual  expertness.    Impelled 


* 

62  Essay  on  Burns 

by  the  expansive  movement  of  his  own  irrepressible  soul, 
he  struggles  forward  into  the  general  view;  and  with 
haughty  modesty  lays  down  before  us,  as  the  fruit  of  his 
labour,  a  gift,  which  Time  has  now  pronounced  imper- 

5  ishable.  Add  to  all  this,  that  his  darksome  drudging 
childhood  and  youth  was  by  far  the  kindliest  era  of  his 
whole  life ;  and  that  he  died  in  his  thirty-seventh  year  :  and 
then  ask,  If  it  be  strange  that  his  poems  are  imperfect, 
and  of  small  extent,  or  that  his  genius  attained  no  mas- 

lotery  in  its  art?  Alas,  his  Sun  shone  as  through  a  tropi- 
cal tornado ;  and  the  pale  Shadow  of  Death  eclipsed  il 
at  noon  !  Shrouded  in  such  baleful  vapours,  the  genius 
of  Burns  was  never  seen  in  clear  azure  splendour,  en- 
lightening the  world :  but  some  beams  from  it  did,  by 

15  fits,  pierce  through  ;  and  it  tinted  those  clouds  with  rain- 
bow and  orient  colour?-  into  a  glory  and  stern  grandeur, 
which  men  silently  gazed  on  with  wonder  and  tears  ! 

We  are  anxious  not  to  exaggerate ;  for  it  is  exposition 
rather  than   admiration  that  our  readers  require   of  us 

20  here  ;  and  yet  to  avoid  some  tendency  to  that  side  is  no 
easy  matter.  We  love  Burns,  and  we  pity  him  ;  and  love 
and  pity  are  prone  to  magnify.  Criticism,  it  is  sometimes 
thought,  should  be  a  cold  business  ;  we  are  not  so  sure  of 
this ;  but,  at  all  events,  our  concern  with  Burns  is  not 

25  exclusively  that  of  critics.  True  and  genial  as  his  poetry 
must  appear,  it  is  not  chiefly  as  a  poet,  but  as  a  man, 
that  he  interests  and  affects  us,  He  was  often  advised  to 
write  a  tragedy :  time  and  means  were  not  lent  him  foi 
this ;  but  through  life  he  enacted  a  tragedy,  and  one  of 


Essay  on  Burns  63 

the  deepest.  We  question  whether  the  world  has  since 
witnessed  so  utterly  sad  a  scene;  whether  Napoleon 
himself,  left  to  brawl  with  Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  and  perish 
on  his  rock,  "amid  the  melancholy  main,"  presented  to 
the  reflecting  mind  such  a  "  spectacle  of  pity  and  fear  "  5 
as  did  this  intrinsically  nobler,  gentler  and  perhaps 
greater  soul,  wasting  itself  away  in  a  hopeless  struggle 
with  base  entanglements,  which  coiled  closer  and  closer 
round  him,  till  only  death  opened  him  an  outlet.  Con- 
querors are  a  class  of  men  with  whom,  for  most  part,  the  10 
world  could  well  dispense ;  nor  can  the  hard  intellect, 
the  unsympathizing  loftiness  and  high  but  selfish  enthusi- 
asm of  such  persons  inspire  us  in  general  with  any  affec- 
tion ;  at  best  it  may  excite  amazement ;  and  their  fall, 
like  that  of  a  pyramid,  will  be  beheld  with  a  certain  15 
sadness  and  awe.  But  a  true  Poet,  a  man  in  whose 
heart  resides  some  effluence  of  Wisdom,  some  tone  of  the 
"  Eternal  Melodies,"  is  the  most  precious  gift  that  can 
be  bestowed  on  a  generation  :  we  see  in  him  a  freer, 
purer  development  of  whatever  is  noblest  in  ourselves  ;  20 
his  life  is  a  rich  lesson  to  us ;  and  we  mourn  his  death  as 
that  of  a  benefactor  who  loved  and  taught  us. 

Such  a  gift  had  Nature,  in  her  bounty,  bestowed  on 
us  in  Robert  Burns ;  but  with  queenlike  indifference  she 
cast  it  from  her  hand,  like  a  thing  of  no  moment ;  and  it  25 
was  defaced  and  torn  asunder,  as  an  idle  bauble,  before 
we  recognized  it.  To  the  ill-starred  Burns  was  given  the 
power  of  making  man's  life  more  venerable,  but  that  of 
wisely  guiding  his  own  life  was  not  given.     Destiny,  — 


64  Essay  on  Burns 

for  so  in  our  ignorance  we  must  speak,  —  his  faults,  the 
faults  of  others,  proved  too  hard  for  him ;  and  that  spirit, 
which  might  have  soared  could  it  but  have  walked,  soon 
sank  to  the  dust,  its  glorious  faculties  trodden  under  foot 

5  in  the  blossom  ;  and  died,  we  may  almost  say,  without 
ever  having  lived.  And  so  kind  and  warm  a  soul ;  so 
full  of  inborn  riches,  of  love  to  all  living  and  lifeless 
things  !  How  his  heart  flows  out  in  sympathy  over  uni- 
versal Nature ;  and  in  her  bleakest  provinces  discerns  a 

10  beauty  and  a  meaning  !  The  "  Daisy  "  falls  not  unheeded 
under  his  ploughshare  ;  nor  the  ruined  nest  of  that  "  wee, 
cowering,  timorous  beastie,"  cast  forth,  after  all  its  provi- 
dent pains,  to  "  thole  *  the  sleety  dribble 2  and  cranreuch 3 
cauld."     The  "hoar  visage"  of  Winter   delights   him; 

15  he  dwells  with  a  sad  and  oft-returning  fondness  in  these 
scenes  of  solemn  desolation ;  but  the  voice  of  the  tempest 
becomes  an  anthem  to  his  ears ;  he  loves  to  walk  in  the 
sounding  woods,  for  "  it  raises  his  thoughts  to  Him  that 
walketh  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  J1     A  true  Poet-soul, 

20  for  it  needs  but  to  be  struck,  and  the  sound  it  yields  will 
be  music  !  But  observe  him  chiefly  as  he  mingles  with 
his  brother  men.  What  warm,  all-comprehending  fellow- 
feeling  ;  what  trustful,  boundless  love ;  what  generous 
exaggeration  of  the  object  loved  !     His  rustic  friend,  his 

25  nut-brown  maiden,  are  no  longer  mean  and  homely,  but 
a  hero  and  a  queen,  whom  he  prizes  as  the  paragons  of 
Earth.     The  rough  scenes  of  Scottish  life,  not  seen  by 

1  Endure.  2  Drizzle.  *  Hoarfrost. 


Essay  on  Burns  65 

him  in  any  Arcadian  illusion,  but  in  the  rude  contradic- 
tion, in  the  smoke  and  soil  of  a  too  harsh  reality,  are  still 
lovely  to  him  :  Poverty  is  indeed  his  companion,  but  Love 
also,  and  Courage  ;  the  simple  feelings,  the  worth,  the  noble- 
ness, that  dwell  under  the  straw  roof,  are  dear  and  vener-  5 
able  to  his  heart:  and  thus  over  the  lowest  provinces  of 
man's  existence  he  pours  the  glory  of  his  own  soul ;  and 
they  rise,  in  shadow  and  sunshine,  softened  and  brightened 
into  a  beauty  which  other  eyes  discern  not  in  the  highest. 
He  has  a  just  self-consciousness,  which  too  often  degen-  ic 
erates  into  pride ;  yet  it  is  a  noble  pride,  for  defence,  not 
for  offence ;  no  cold  suspicious  feeling,  but  a  frank  and 
social  one.  The  Peasant  Poet  bears  himself,  we  might  say, 
like  a  King  in  exile :  he  is  cast  among  the  low,  and  feels 
himself  equal  to  the  highest ;  yet  he  claims  no  rank,  that  15 
none  may  be  disputed  to  him.  The  forward  he  can  repel, 
the  supercilious  he  can  subdue ;  pretensions  of  wealth  or 
ancestry  are  of  no  avail  with  him ;  there  is  a  fire  in  that 
dark  eye,  under  which  the  "  insolence  of  condescension  " 
cannot  thrive.  In  his  abasement,  in  his  extreme  need,  he  20 
forgets  not  for  a  moment  the  majesty  of  Poetry  and  Man- 
hood. And  yet,  far  as  he  feels  himself  above  common 
men,  he  wanders  not  apart  from  them,  but  mixes  warmly 
in  their  interests  ;  nay,  throws  himself  into  their  arms,  and, 
as  it  were,  entreats  them  to  love  him.  It  is  moving  to  25 
see  how,  in  his  darkest  despondency,  this  proud  being 
still  seeks  relief  from  friendship  ;  unbosoms  himself,  often 
to  the  unworthy ;  and,  amid  tears,  strains  to  his  glowing 
heart  a  heart  that  knows  only  the  name  of  friendship. 
carlyle's  essay  on  burns  —  c 


66  Essay  on  Burns 

And  yet  he  was  "  quick  to  learn  "  ;  a  man  of  keen  vision, 
before  whom  common  disguises  afforded  no  concealment. 
His  understanding  saw  through  the  hollowness  even  of 
accomplished  deceivers  ;  but  there  was  a  generous  credu- 

5  lity  in  his  heart.  And  so  did  our  Peasant  show  himself 
among  us ;  "a  soul  like  an  iEolian  harp,  in  whose  strings 
the  vulgar  wind,  as  it  passed  through  them,  changed  itself 
into  articulate  melody."  And  this  was  he  for  whom  the 
world  found  no  fitter  business  than  quarrelling  with  smug- 

:o  glers  and  vintners,  computing  excise-dues  upon  tallow,  and 
gauging  ale-barrels  !  In  such  toils  was  that  mighty  Spirit 
sorrowfully  wasted  :  and  a  hundred  years  may  pass  on, 
before  another  such  is  given  us  to  waste. 

All  that  remains  of  Burns,  the  Writings   he  has  left, 
15  seem  to  us,  as  we  hinted  above,  no  more  than  a  poor 
mutilated  fraction  of  what  was   in  him ;   brief,  broken 
glimpses  of  a  genius  that  could  never  show  itself  com- 
plete ;  that  wanted  all  things  for  completeness  :  culture, 
>  leisure,  true  effort,  nay,  even  length  of  life.    His  poems  are, 
to  with  scarcely  any  exception,  mere  occasional  effusions ; 
poured   forth  with  little  premeditation ;    expressing,  by 
such  means  as  offered,  the  passion,  opinion,  or  humour  of 
the  hour.     Never  in  one  instance  was  it  permitted  him 
to  grapple  with  any  subject  with  the  full  collection  of  his 
25  strength,  to  fuse  and  mould  it  in  the  concentrated  fire  of 
his  genius.     To  try  by  the  strict  rules  of  Art  such  imper- 
fect fragments,  would  be  at  once  unprofitable  and  unfair. 
Nevertheless,  there  is  something  in  these  poems,  marred 


Essay  on  Burns  67 

and  defective  as  they  are,  which  forbids  the  most  fastidious 
student  of  poetry  to  pass  them  by.  Some  sort  of  enduring 
quality  they  must  have  :  for  after  fifty  years  of  the  wildest 
vicissitudes  in  poetic  taste,  they  still  continue  to  be  read ; 
nay,  are  read  more  and  more  eagerly,  more  and  more  5 
extensively ;  and  this  not  only  by  literary  virtuosos,  and 
that  class  upon  whom  transitory  causes  operate  most 
strongly,  but  by  all  classes,  down  to  the  most  hard,  unlet- 
tered and  truly  natural  class,  who  read  little,  and  espe- 
cially no  poetry,  except  because  they  find  pleasure  in  it.  10 
The  grounds  of  so  singular  and  wide  a  popularity,  which 
extends,  in  a  literal  sense,  from  the  palace  to  the  hut,  and 
over  all  regions  where  the  English  tongue  is  spoken,  are 
well  worth  inquiring  into.  After  every  just  deduction,  it 
seems  to  imply  some  rare  excellence  in  these  works.  15 
What  is  that  excellence? 

To  answer  this  question  will  not  lead  us  far.  The 
excellence  of  Burns  is,  indeed,  among  the  rarest,  whether 
in  poetry  or  prose ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  plain  and 
easily  recognized :  his  Sincerity,  his  indisputable  air  of  20 
Truth.  Here  are  no  fabulous  woes  or  joys ;  no  hollow 
fantastic  sentimentalities ;  no  wiredrawn  refinings,  either 
in  thought  or  feeling :  the  passion  that  is  traced  before 
us  has  glowed  in  a  living  heart;  the  opinion  he  utters 
has  risen  in  his  own  understanding,  and  been  a  light  to  25 
his  own  steps.  He  does  not  write  from  hearsay,  but 
from  sight  and  experience ;  it  is  the  scenes  that  he  has 
lived  and  laboured  amidst,  that  he  describes :  those 
scenes,  rude  and  humble  as  they  are,  have  kindled  beau- 


68  Essay  on  Burns 

tiful  emotions  in  his  soul,  noble  thoughts,  and   definite 

resolves ;  and  he  speaks  forth  what  is  in  him,  not  from 

any  outward  call  of  vanity  or  interest,  but  because  his 

heart  is  too  full  to  be  silent.     He  speaks  it  with  such 

5  melody  and  modulation  as  he  can ;    "  in  homely  rustic 

jingle "  ;    but  it  is    his  own,  and  genuine.     This  is  the 

grand  secret  for  finding  readers  and  retaining  them  :  let 

him  who  would  move  and  convince  others,  be  first  moved 

and  convinced  himself.     Horace's  rule,  Si  vis  me  flere,  is 

io  applicable  in  a  wider  sense  than  the  literal  one.     To  every 

.   poet,  to  every  writer,  we  might  say  :  Be  true,  if  you  would 

I  be  believed.     Let  a  man  but  speak  forth  with  genuine 

earnestness  the  thought,  the  emotion,  the  actual  condition 

of  his  own  heart ;  and  other  men,  so  strangely  are  we  all 

15  knit  together  by  the  tie  of  sympathy,  must  and  will  give 

heed  to  him.     In   culture,  in   extent   of  view,  we   may 

stand  above  the  speaker,  or  below  him  ;  but  in  either  case, 

his  words,  if  they  are  earnest  and  sincere,  will  find  some 

response  within  us ;  for  in  spite  of  all  casual  varieties  in 

20  outward  rank  or  inward,  as  face  answers  to  face,  so  does 

the  heart  of  man  to  man. 

This  may  appear  a  very  simple  principle,  and  one 
which  Burns  had  little  merit  in  discovering.  True,  the 
discovery  is  easy  enough  :  but  the  practical  appliance  is 
25  not  easy ;  is  indeed  the  fundamental  difficulty  which  all 
poets  have  to  strive  with,  and  which  scarcely  one  in  the 
hundred  ever  fairly  surmounts.  A  head  too  dull  to  dis- 
criminate the  true  from  the  false ;  a  heart  too  dull  to  love 
the  one  at  all  risks,  and  to  hate  the  other  in  spite  of  all 


Essay  on  Burns  69 

temptations,  are  alike  fatal  to  a  writer.     With  either,  or 
as  more  commonly  happens,  with  both  of  these  deficien- 
cies combine  a  love  of  distinction,  a  wish  to  be  original, 
which  is  seldom  wanting,  and  we  have  Affectation,  the  ^ 
bane  of  literature,  as  Cant,  its  elder  brother,  is  of  morals.  5 
How  often  does  the  one  and  the  other  front  us,  in  poetry, 
as  in  life  !     Great  poets  themselves  are  not  always  free  of 
this  vice  ;  nay,  it  is  precisely  on  a  certain  sort  and  degree 
of  greatness  that  it  is  most  commonly  ingrafted.     A  strong 
effort  after  excellence  will  sometimes  solace  itself  with  a  i< 
mere  shadow  of  success  ;  he  who  has  much  to  unfold,  will 
sometimes  unfold  it  imperfectly.     Byron,  for  instance,  was 
no  common  man :  yet  if  we  examine  his  poetry  with  this 
view,  we  shall  find  it  far  enough  from  faultless.     Generally 
speaking,  we  should  say  that  it  is  not  true.     He  refreshes  15 
us,  not  with  the  divine  fountain,  but  too  often  with  vulgar 
strong  waters,  stimulating  indeed  to  the  taste,  but  soon 
ending  in  dislike,  or  even  nausea.     Are  his  Harolds  and 
Giaours,  we  would  ask,  real  men ;  we  mean,  poetically 
consistent  and  conceivable  men?     Do  not  these  charac-ac 
ters,  does  not  the  character  of  their  author,  which  more 
or  less  shines  through  them  all,  rather  appear  a  thing  put 
on  for  the  occasion  j  no  natural  or  possible  mode  of  being, 
but  something  intended  to  look  much  grander  than  nature  ? 
Surely,  all  these  stormful  agonies,  this  volcanic  heroism,  25 
superhuman  contempt  and  moody  desperation,  with  so 
much  scowling,  and  teeth-gnashing,  and  other  sulphurous 
humour,  is  more  like  the  brawling  of  a  player  in  some 
paltry  tragedy,  which   is  to  last   three   hours,  than   the 


70  Essay  on  Burns 

bearing  of  a  man  in  the  business  of  life,  which  is  to  last 
threescore  and  ten  years.  To  our  minds  there  is  a  taint 
of  this  sort,  something  which  we  should  call  theatrical, 
false,  affected,  in  every  one  of  these  otherwise  so  powerful 

5  pieces.  Perhaps  Don  Juan,  especially  the  latter  parts  of 
it,  is  the  only  thing  approaching  to  a  sincere  work,  he 
ever  wrote ;  the  only  work  where  he  showed  himself,  in 
any  measure,  as  he  was ;  and  seemed  so  intent  on  his 
subject  as,  for  moments,  to  forget  himself.     Yet  Byron 

io  hated  this  vice ;  we  believe,  heartily  detested  it :  nay,  he 
had  declared  formal  war  against  it  in  words.  So  difficult 
is  it  even  for  the  strongest  to  make  this  primary  attain- 
ment, which  might  seem  the  simplest  of  all :  to  read  its 

N  own   consciousness  without  mistakes,  without  errors  in- 

15  voluntary  or  wilful !  We  recollect  no  poet  of  Burns's  sus- 
ceptibility who  comes  before  us  from  the  first,  and  abides 
with  us  to  the  last,  with  such  a  total  want  of  affectation. 
He  is  an  honest  man,  and  an  honest  writer.  In  his  suc- 
cesses and  his  failures,  in  his  greatness  and  his  littleness, 

20  he  is  ever  clear,  simple,  true,  and  glitters  with  no  lustre 
but  his  own.  We  reckon  this  to  be  a  great  virtue ;  to 
be,  in  fact,  the  root  of  most  other  virtues,  literary  as 
well  as  moral. 

Here,  however,  let  us  say,  it  is  to  the  Poetry  of  Burns 

25  that  we  now  allude ;  to  those  writings  which  he  had  time 
to  meditate,  and  where  no  special  reason  existed  to  warp 
his  critical  feeling,  or  obstruct  his  endeavour  to  fulfil  it. 
Certain  of  his  Letters,  and  other  fractions  of  prose  com- 
position, by  no  means  deserve  this  praise.     Here,  doubt- 


Essay  on  Burns  jt 

less,  there  is  not  the  same  natural  truth  of  style ;  but  oil 
the  contrary,  something  not  only  stiff,  but  strained  and 
twisted  ;  a  certain  high-flown  inflated  tone ;  the  stilting 
emphasis  of  which  contrasts  ill  with  the  firmness  and 
rugged  simplicity  of  even  his  poorest  verses.  Thus  no  5 
man,  it  would  appear,  is  altogether  unaffected.  Does  not 
Shakspeare  himself  sometimes  premeditate  the  sheerest 
bombast !  But  even  with  regard  to  these  Letters  of  Burns, 
it  is  but  fair  to  state  that  he  had  two  excuses.  The  first 
was  his  comparative  deficiency  in  language.  Burns,  10 
though  for  most  part  he  writes  with  singular  force  and 
even  gracefulness,  is  not  master  of  English  prose,  as  he  is 
of  Scottish  verse  ;  not  master  of  it,  we  mean,  in  proportion 
to  the  depth  and  vehemence  of  his  matter.  These  Let- 
ters strike  us  as  the  effort  of  a  man  to  express  something  15 
which  he  has  no  organ  fit  for  expressing.  But  a  second 
and  weightier  excuse  is  to  be  found  in  the  peculiarity  of 
Burns's  social  rank.  His  correspondents  are  often  men 
whose  relation  to  him  he  has  never  accurately  ascertained  ; 
whom  therefore  he  is  either  forearming  himself  against,  20 
or  else  unconsciously  flattering,  by  adopting  the  style  he 
thinks  will  please  them.  At  all  events,  we  should  remem- 
ber that  these  faults,  even  in  his  Letters,  are  not  the  rule, 
but  the  exception.  Whenever  he  writes,  as  one  would 
ever  wish  to  do,  to  trusted  friends  and  on  real  interests,  25 
his  style  becomes  simple,  vigorous,  expressive,  sometimes 
even  beautiful.  His  letters  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  are  uniformly 
excellent. 

But  we  return  to  his  Poetry.     In  addition  to  its  Sin- 


72  Essay  on  Burns 

Verity,  it  has  another  peculiar  merit,  which  indeed  is  but 
a  mode,  or  perhaps  a  means,  of  the  foregoing :  this  dis- 
plays itself  in  his  choice  of  subjects ;  or  rather  in  his  in- 
difference as  to  subjects,  and  the  power  he  has  of  making 
5  all  subjects  interesting.  The  ordinary  poet,  like  the  or- 
dinary man,  is  forever  seeking  in  external  circumstances 
the  help  which  can  be  found  only  in  himself.  In  what 
is  familiar  and  near  at  hand,  he  discerns  no  form  or 
comeliness  :    home  is  not  poetical  but  prosaic ;  it  is  in 

io  some  past^  distant,  conventional  heroic  world,  that  poetry 
resides ;  were  he  the,re  and  not  here,  were  he  thus  and 
not  so,  it  would  be  well  with  him.  Hence  our  innumer- 
able host  of  rose-coloured  Novels  and  iron-mailed  Epics, 
with    their  locality  not   on    the    Earth,    but   somewhere 

15  nearer  to  the  Moon.  Hence  our  Virgins  of  the  Sun,  and 
our  Knights  of  the  Cross,  malicious  Saracens  in  turbans, 
and  copper-coloured  Chiefs  in  wampum,  and  so  many 
other  truculent  figures  from  the  heroic  times  or  the  heroic 
climates,  who  on  all  hands  swarm  in  our  poetry.     Peace 

'20  be  with  them  !  But  yet,  as  a  great  moralist  proposed 
preaching  to  the  men  of  this  century,  so  would  we  fain 
preach  to  the  poets,  "  a  sermon  on  the  duty  of  staying  at 
home."  Let  them  be  sure  that  heroic  ages  and  heroic 
climates  can  do  little  for  them.     That  form  of  life  has 

25  attraction  for  us,  less  because  it  is  better  or  nobler  than 
our  own,  than  simply  because  it  is  different ;  and  even 
this  attraction  must  be  of  the  most  transient  sort.  For 
will  not  our  own  age,  one  day,  be  an  ancient  one ;  and 
have  as  quaint  a  costume  as  the  rest ;  not  contrasted  with 


Essay  on  Burns  73 

the  rest,  therefore,  but  ranked  along  with  them,  in  respect 
of  quaintness?  Does  Homer  interest  us  now,  because  he 
wrote  of  what  passed  beyond  his  native  Greece,  and  two 
centuries  before  he  was  born ;  or  because  he  wrote  what 
passed  in  God's  world,  and  in  the  heart  of  man,  which  is  5 
the  same  after  thirty  centuries?  Let  our  poets  look  to 
this  :  is  their  feeling  really  finer,  truer,  and  their  vision 
deeper  than  that  of  other  men,  —  they  have  nothing  to 
fear,  even  from  the  humblest  subject ;  is  it  not  so,  —  they 
have  nothing  to  hope,  but  an  ephemeral  favour,  even  10 
from  the  highest. 

The  poet,  we  imagine,  can  never  have  far  to  seek  for 
a  subject :  the  elements  of  his  art  are  in  him,  and  around 
him  on  every  hand  ;  for  him  the  Ideal  world  is  not  remote 
from  the  Actual,  but  under  it  and  within  it :  nay,  he  is  a  15 
poet,  precisely  because  he  can  discern  it  there.  Wher- 
ever there  is  a  sky  above  him,  and  a  world  around  him, 
the  poet  is  in  his  place ;  for  here  too  is  man's  existence, 
with  its  infinite  longings  and  small  acquirings ;  its  ever- 
thwarted,  ever-renewed  endeavours  ;  its  unspeakable  aspi-  20 
rations,  its  fears  and  hopes  that  wander  through  Eternity  ; 
and  all  the  mystery  of  brightness  and  of  gloom  that  it  was 
ever  made  of,  in  any  age  or  climate,  since  man  first  began 
to  live.  Is  there  not  the  fifth  act  of  a  Tragedy  in  every 
death-bed,  though  it  were  a  peasant's,  and  a  bed  of  heath?  25 
And  are  wooings  and  weddings  obsolete,  that  there  can  be 
Comedy  no  longer  ?  Or  are  men  suddenly  grown  wise, 
that  Laughter  must  no  longer  shake  his  sides,  but  be 
cheated  of  his  Farce  ?     Man's  life  and  nature  is,  as  it  was, 


74  Essay  on  Burns 

and  as  it  will  ever  be.  But  the  poet  must  have  an  eye  to 
read  these  things,  and  a  heart  to  understand  them ;  or 
they  come  and  pass  away  before  him  in  vain.  He  is  a 
vates,  a  seer ;  a  gift  of  vision  has  been  given  him.  Has 
5  life  no  meanings  for  him,  which  another  cannot  equally 
decipher ;  then  he  is  no  poet,  and  Delphi  itself  will  not 
make  him  one. 

In  this  respect,  Burns,  though  not  perhaps  absolutely 
a  great  poet,  better  manifests  his  capability,  better  proves 

io  the  truth  of  his  genius,  than  if  he  had  by  his  own  strength 
kept  the  whole  Minerva  Press  going,  to  the  end  of  his 
literary  course.  He  shows  himself  at  least  a  poet  of 
Nature's  own  making ;  and  Nature,  after  all,  is  still  the 
grand  agent  in  making  poets.     We  often  hear  of  this  and 

15  the  other  external  condition  being  requisite  for  the  exist- 
ence of  a  poet.  Sometimes  it  is  a  certain  sort  of  train- 
ing; he  must  have  studied  certain  things,' studied  for 
instance  "  the  elder  dramatists,"  and  so  learned  a  poetic 
language  ;  as  if  poetry  lay  in  the  tongue,  not  in  the  heart. 

20  At  other  times  we  are  told  he  must  be  bred  in  a  certain 
rank,  and  must  be  on  a  confidential  footing  with  the 
higher  classes ;  because,  above  all  things,  he  must  see 
the  world.  As  to  seeing  the  world,  we  apprehend  this 
will  cause  him  little  difficulty,  if  he  have  but  eyesight  to 

25  see  it  with.  Without  eyesight,  indeed,  the  task  might  be 
hard.  The  blind  or  the  purblind  man  "  travels  from  Dan 
to  Beersheba,  and  finds  it  all  barren."  But  happily  every 
poet  is  born  in  the  world  ;  and  sees  it,  with  or  against  his 
will,  every  day  and  every  hour  he  lives.     The  mysterious 


Essay  on  Burns  75 

workmanship  of  man's  heart,  the  true  light  and  the  in- 
scrutable darkness   of  man's  destiny,  reveal   themselves 
not  only  in  capital  cities  and  crowded   saloons,  but  in 
every  hut  and  hamlet  where  men  have  their  abode.    Nay, 
do  not  the  elements  of  all  human  virtues  and  all  human  5 
vices ;  the  passions  at  once  of  a  Borgia  and  of  a  Luther,     1 
lie  written,  in  stronger  or  fainter  lines,  in  the  conscious-     ' 
ness  of  every  individual  bosom,  that  has  practised  honest 
self-examination?     Truly,  this  same  world  may  be  seen  in 
Mossgiel  and  Tarbolton,  if  we  look  well,  as  clearly  as  it  10 
ever  came  to  light  in  Crockford's,  or  the  Tuileries  itself. 
But  sometimes  still  harder  requisitions  are  laid  on  the 
poor  aspirant  to  poetry ;  for  it  is  hinted  that  he  should 
have  been  born  two  centuries  ago;  inasmuch  as  poetry, 
about  that  date,  vanished  from  the  earth,  and  became  no  15 
longer  attainable   by  men  !     Such  cobweb   speculations 
have,  now  and  then,  overhung  the  field  of  literature ;  but 
they   obstruct    not  the  growth  of  any  plant  there  :   the 
Shakspeare  or  the  Burns,  unconsciously  and  merely  as  he 
walks  onward,  silently  brushes  them  away.     Is  not  every  20 
genius  an  impossibility  till  he  appear?     Why  do  we  call 
him   new  and  original,  if  we  saw  where  his  marble  was 
lying,  and  what  fabric  he  could  rear  from  it?     It  is  not 
the  material  but  the  workrrfan  that  is  wanting.     It  is  not 
the  darkfl/ace  that  hinders,  but  the  dim  eye.     A  Scottish  25 
peasant's  life  was  the  meanest  and  rudest  of  all  lives,  till 
Burns  became  a  poet  in  it,  and  a  poet  of  it ;  found  it  a 
man's  life,  and  therefore  significant  to  men.    A  thousand 
battle-fields  remain  unsung  j  but  the  Wounded  Hare  has 


y6  Essay  on  Burns 

not  perished  without  its  memorial ;  a  balm  of  mercy  yet 
breathes  on  us  from  its  dumb  agonies,  because  a  poet  was 
there.  Our  Halloween  had  passed  and  repassed,  in  rude 
awe  and  laughter,  since  the  era  of  the  Druids ;  but  no  The- 
5  ocritus,  till  Burns,  discerned  in  it  the  materials  of  a  Scottish 
Idyl :  neither  was  the  Holy  Fair  any  Council  of  Trent  or 
Jkomaxi  Jubilee  ;  but  nevertheless,  Superstition  and  Hypoc- 
risy and  Fun  having  been  propitious  to  him,  in  this  man's 
hand  it  became  a  poem,  instinct  with  satire  and  genuine 

io  comic  life.     Let  but  the  true  poet  be  given  us,  we  repeat 

J  it,  place  him  where  and  how  you  will,  and  true  poetry 
will  not  be  wanting. 

Independently  of  the  essential  gift  of  poetic  feeling, 
as  we  have  now  attempted  to  describe  it,  a  certain  rugged 

15  sterling  worth  pervades  whatever  Burns  has  written ;  a 
virtue,  as  of  green  fields  and  mountain  breezes,  dwells  in 
his  poetry ;  it  is  redolent  of  natural  life  and  hardy  natural 
men.  There  is  a  decisive  strength  in  him,  and  yet  a 
sweet  native  gracefulness  :  he  is  tender,  he  is  vehement, 

20  yet  without  constraint  or  too  visible  effort ;  he  melts  the 
heart,  or  inflames  it,  with  a  power  which  seems  habitual 
and  familiar  to  him.  We  see  that  in  this  man  there  was 
the  gentleness,  the  trembling  pity  of  a  woman,  with  the 
deep  earnestness,  the  force  ami  passionate  ardour  of  a 

25  hero.  Tears  lie  in  him,  and  consuming  fire  ;  as  lightning 
lurks  in  the  drops  of  the  summer  cloud.  He  has  a  reso- 
nance in  his  bosom  for  every  note  of  human  feeling;  the 
high  and  the  low,  the  sad,  the  ludicrous,  the  joyful,  are 
welcome  in  their  turns  to  his  "  lightly- moved  and  all- 


Essay  on  Burns  77 

conceiving  spirit."  And  observe  with  what  a  fierce  prompt 
force  he  grasps  his  subject,  be  it  what  it  may  !  How  he 
fixes,  as  it  were,  the  full  image  of  the  matter  in  his  eye  ; 
full  and  clear  in  every  lineament ;  and  catches  the  real 
type  and  essence  of  it,  amid  a  thousand  accidents  and  5 
superficial  circumstances,  no  one  of  which  misleads  him  ! 
Is  it  of  reason ;  some  truth  to  be  discovered  ?  No 
sophistry,  no  vain  surface-logic  detains  him ;  quick, 
resolute,  unerring,  he  pierces  through  into  the  marrow  of 
the  question ;  and  speaks  his  verdict  with  an  emphasis  10 
that  cannot  be  forgotten.  Is  it  of  description ;  some 
visual  object  to  be  represented?  No  poet  of  any  age  or 
nation  is  more  graphic  than  Burns  :  the  characteristic 
features  disclose  themselves  to  him  at  a  glance  ;  three 
lines  from  his  hand,  and  we  have  a  likeness.  And,  in  that  15 
rough  dialect,  in  that  rude,  often  awkward  metre,  so  clear 
and  definite'  a  likeness  !  It  seems  a  draughtsman  work- 
ing with  a  burnt  stick ;  and  yet  the  burin  of  a  Retzsch  is 
not  more  expressive  or  exact. 

Of  this  last  excellence,  the  plainest  and  most  compre-  20 
hensive  of  all,  being  indeed  the  root  and  foundation  of 
every  sort  of  talent,  poetical  or  intellectual,  we  could  pro- 
duce innumerable  instances  from  the  writings  of  Burns. 
Take  these  glimpses  of  a  snow-storm  from  his  Winter 
Night  (the  italics  are  ours)  :  25 

When  biting  Boreas,  fell l  and  doure,  2 
Sharp  shivers  thro'  the  leafless  bow'r, 
And  Phoebus gies  a  short-liv }d g/owr3 

1  Keen.  2  Stubborn.  8  Stare. 


7&  Essay  on  Burns 

Far  south  the  lift, 1 

Dim-dark1  ning  thro'  the  flaky  shoixtr 

Or  whirling  drift : 

*Ae  night  the  storm  the  steeples  rock'd, 
5  Poor  labour  sweet  in  sleep  was  lock'd, 

While  burns  wV  snawy  wreeths  upcho&d 

Wild-eddyiiig  swirl. 
Or  thro'  the  mining  outlet  bock'd,2 
Down  headlong  hurl. 

io  Are  there  not  "  descriptive  touches  "  here?  The  describei 
saw  this  thing ;  the  essential  feature  and  true  likeness  of 
every  circumstance  in  it ;  saw,  and  not  with  the  eye  only. 
"  Poor  labour  locked  in  sweet  sleep  "  ;  the  dead  stillness 
of  man,  unconscious,  vanquished,  yet  not  unprotected, 

15  while  such  strife  of  the  material  elements  rages,  and  seems 
to  reign  supreme  in  loneliness  :  this  is  of  the  heart  as  well 
as  of  the  eye  !  —  Look  also  at  his  image  of  a  thaw,  and 
prophesied  fall  of  the  Auld  Brig : 

When  heavy,  dark,  continued,  a*  -day  rains 

20  Wi'  deepening  deluges  o'erflow  the  plains; 

When  from  the  hills  where  springs  the  brawling  Coil,  — 
Or  stately  Lugar's  mossy  fountains  boil, 
Or  where  the  Greenock  winds  his  moorland  course, 
Or  haunted  Garpal  3  draws  his  feeble  source, 

25  Arous'd  by  blust'ring  winds  and  spotting  thowes,4 

In  mony  a  torrent  down  his  snaw-broo  5  rowes;  6 
While  crashing  ice,  borne  on  the  roaring  speatf 

1  Sky.      2  Vomited.       8  Fabulosus  Hydaspes  !  (  CarlyWs  note. ) 
4  Thaws.  5  Melted  snow.  6  Rolls.  7  Torrent. 


Essay  on  Burns  79 

Sweeps  dams  and  mills  and  brigs1  a1  to  the  gate  /2 

And  from  Glenbuck  down  to  the  Rottonkey, 

Auld  Ayr  is  just  one  lengthen'd  tumbling sea; 

Then  down  ye'll  hurl,  Deil  nor  ye  never  rise ! 

And  dash  the  gumlie  jaups  8  up  to  the  pouring  skies.  # 

The  last  line  is  in  itself  a  Poussin-picture  of  that  Deluge  ! 
The  welkin  has,  as  it  were,  bent  down  with  its  weight ; 
the  "  gumlie  jaups  "  and  the  "  pouring  skies  "  are  mingled 
together ;  it  is  a  world  of  rain  a,nd  ruin.  —  In  respect  of 
mere  clearness  and  minute  fidelity,  the  Farmer's  com- 10 
mendation  of  his  Auld  Mare,  in  plough  or  in  cart,  may 
vie  with  Homer's  Smithy  of  the  Cyclops,  or  yoking  of 
Priam's  Chariot.  Nor  have  we  forgotten  stout  Burn- 
the-wind  ami  his  brawny  customers,  inspired  by  Scotch 
Drink :  but  it  is  needless  to  multiply  examples.  One  15 
other  trait  of  a  much  finer  sort  we  select  from  multitudes 
of  such  among  his  Songs.  It  gives,  in  a  single  line, 
to  the  saddest  feeling  the  saddest  environment  and  local 
habitation : 

The  pale  Moon  is  setting  beyond  the  white  wave,  20 

And  time  is  setting  wV  me,  O  ; 

Farewell,  false  friends  !  false  lover,  farewell ! 

I'll  nae  mair  trouble  them  nor  thee,  O. 

This  clearness  of  sight  we  have  called  the  foundation 
of  all  talent ;  for  in  fact,  unless  we  see  our  object,  how  25 
shall  we  know  how  to  place  or  prize  it,  in  our  understand- 
ing, our  imagination,  our  affections?     Yet  it  is  not  in  it- 

1  Bridges.  2  Out  of  the  way.  3  Muddy  splashes. 


80  Essay  on  Burns 

self,  perhaps,  a  very  high  excellence ;  but  capable  of 
being  united  indifferently  with  the  strongest,  or  with  or- 
dinary power.  Homer  surpasses  all  men  in  this  quality  : 
but  strangely  enough,  at  no  great  distance  below  him  are 
5  Richardson  and  Defoe.  It  belongs,  in  truth,  to  what  is 
called  a  lively  mind ;  and  gives  n<>  sure  indication  of  the 
higher  endowments  that  niay  exist  along  with  it.  In  all 
the  three  cases  we  have  mentioned,  it  is  combined  with 
great  garrulity;  their  descriptions  are  detailed,  ample 
io  and  lovingly  exact ;  Horrer's  fire  bursts  through,  from 
time  to  time,  as  if  by  accident ;  but  Defoe  and  Richard- 
son have  no  fire.  Burns,  again,  is  not  more  distinguished 
by  the  clearness  tAan  by  the  impetuous  force  of  his  con- 
ceptions. Of  the  strength,  the  piercing  em'phasis  with 
*5  which  he  thought,  his  emphasis  of  expression  may  give 
a  humble  but  the  readiest  proof.  Who  ever  uttered 
sh?.rper  sayings  than  his ;  words  more  memorable,  now 
by  their  burning  vehemence,  now  by  their  cool  vigour 
and  laconic  pith?  A  single  phrase  depicts  a  whole  sub- 
ject, a  whole  scene.  We  hear  of  "a  gentleman  that  de- 
rived his  patent  of  nobility  direct  from  Almighty  God." 
Our  Scottish  forefathers  in  the  battle-field  struggled  for- 
ward "  red-wat-shod"  l :  in  this  one  word  a  full  vision 
of  horror  and  carnage,  perhaps  too  frightfully  accurate 
25  for  Art ! 

In  fact,  one  of  the  leading  features  in  the  mind  of 
Burns  is  this  vigour  of  his  strictly  intellectual  perceptions, 

1  See  notes. 


Essay  on  Burns  81 

A  resolute  force  is  ever  visible  in  his  judgments,  and  in 
his  feelings  and  volitions.     Professor  Stewart  says  of  him, 
with  some  surprise :  "  All  the  faculties  of  Burns's  mind 
were,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  equally  vigorous ;  and  his 
predilection  for  poetry  was  rather  the  result  of  his  own  5 
enthusiastic  and  impassioned  temper,  than  of  a  genius 
exclusively  adapted  to  that  species  of  composition.    From 
his  conversation  I  should  have  pronounced  him  to  be 
fitted  to  excel  in  whatever   walk  of  ambition  he   had 
chosen  to  exert  his  abilities."     But  -this,  if  we  mistake  10 
not,  is  at  all  times  the  very  essence  of  a  truly  poetical    v- 
endowment.     Poetry,  except  in  such  cases  as  that  of 
Keats,  where  the  whole  consists  in  a  weak-eyed  maudlin 
sensibility,  and  a  certain  vague  random  tunefulness  of 
nature,  is  no  separate  faculty,  no  organ  which  can   be  15 
superadded   to  the  rest,  or  disjoined    from   them ;   but 
rather  the  result  of  their  general  harmony  and  comple- 
tion.    The  feelings,  the  gifts  that  exist  in  the  Poet  are 
those  that  exist,  with  more  or  less  development,  in  every 
human  soul :  the  imagination,  which  shudders  at  the  Hell  20 
of  Dante,  is  the  same  faculty,  weaker  in  degree,  which 
called  that  picture  into  being.    How  does  the  Poet  speak 
to  men,  with  power,  but  by  being  still  more  a  man  than 
they?     Shakespeare,  it  has  been  well  observed,  in   the 
planning  and  completing  of  his  tragedies,  has  shown  an  25 
Understanding,  were  it  nothing  more,  which  might  have 
governed  states,  or  indited  a  Novum   Organum.     What 
Burns's  force  of  understanding  may  have  been,  we  have 
less   means   of  judging :    it    had   to   dwell   among   the 
carlyle's  essay  on  burns  —  6 


8  a  Essay  on  Burns 

humblest  objects ;  never  saw  Philosophy ;  never  rose, 
except  by  natural  effort  and  for  short  intervals,  into 
the  region  of  great  ideas.  Nevertheless,  sufficient  in- 
dication, if  no  proof  sufficient,  remains  for  us  in  his 
5  works  :  we  discern  the  brawny  movements  of  a  gigantic 
though  untutored  strength;  and  can  understand  how, 
in  conversation,  his  quick  sure  insight  into  men  and 
things  may,  as  much  as  aught  else  about  him,  have 
amazed  the  best  thinkers  of  his  time  and  country. 

io  But,  unless  we  mistake,  the  intellectual  gift  of  Burns  is 
fine  as  well  as  strong.  The  more  delicate  relations  of 
things  could  not  well  have  escaped  his  eye,  for  they  were 
intimately  present  to  his  heart.  The  logic  of  the  senate 
and  the  forum  is  indispensable,  but  not  all-sufficient ;  nay, 

15  perhaps  the  highest  Truth  is  that  which  will  the  most  cer- 
tainly elude  it.  For  this  logic  works  by  words,  and  "  the 
highest,"  it  has  been  said,  "  cannot  be  expressed  in 
words."  We  are  not  without  tokens  of  an  openness  for 
this  higher  truth  also,  of  a  keen  though  uncultivated  sense 

20  for  it,  having  existed  in  Burns.  Mr.  Stewart,  it  will  be 
remembered,  "  wonders,^  in  the  passage  above  quoted, 
that  Burns  had  formed  some  distinct  conception  of  the 
"  doctrine  of  association."  We  rather  think  that  far 
subtler  things  than  the  doctrine  of  association  had  from 

25  of  old  been  familiar  to  him.     Here  for  instance  : 

"We  knew  nothing,"  thus  writes  he,  "or  next  to  nothing,  of 
the  structure  of  our  souls,  so  we  cannot  account  for  those  seeming 
caprices  in  them,  that  one  should  be  particularly  pleased  with  this 


Essay  on  Burns  83 

thing,  or  struck  with  that,  which,  on  minds  of  a  different  cast, 
makes  no  extraordinary  impression.  I  have  some  favourite  flowers 
in  spring,  among  which  are  the  mountain-daisy,  the  harebell,  the 
foxglove,  the  wild-brier  rose,  the  budding  birch,  and  the  hoary 
hawthorn,  that  I  view  and  hang  over  with  particular  delight.  I  5 
never  hear  the  loud  solitary  whistle  of  the  curlew  in  a  summer 
noon,  or  the  wild  mixing  cadence  of  a  troop  of  gray  plover  in  an 
autumnal  morning,  without  feeling  an  elevation  of  soul  like  the 
enthusiasm  of  devotion  or  poetry.  Tell  me,  my  dear  friend,  to 
what  can  this  be  owing  ?  Are  we  a  piece  of  machinery,  which,  10 
like  the  ^Eolian  harp,  passive,  takes  the  impression  of  the  passing 
accident ;  or  do  these  workings  argue  something  within  us  above 
the  trodden  clod  ?  I  own  myself  partial  to  such  proofs  of  those 
awful  and  important  realities:  a  God  that  made  all  things,  man's 
immaterial  and  immortal  nature,  and  a  world  of  weal  or  woe  beyond  15 
death  and  the  grave." 

Force  and  fineness  of  understanding  are  often  spoken 
of  as  something  different  from  general  force  and  fineness 
of  nature,  as  something  partly  independent  of  them.  The 
necessities  of  language  so'  require  it ;  but  in  truth  these  20 
qualities  are  not  distinct  and  independent :  except  in 
special  cases,  and  from  special  causes,  they  ever  go 
together.  A  man  of  strong  understanding  is  generally  a 
man  of  strong  character ;  neither  is  delicacy  in  the  one 
kind  often  divided  from  delicacy  in  the  other.  No  one,  2^ 
at  all  events,  is  ignorant  that  in  the  Poetry  of  Burns  keen- 
ness of  insight  keeps  pace  with  keenness  of  feeling ;  that 
his  light  is  not  more  pervading  than  his  warmth.  He  is 
a  man  of  the  most  impassioned  temper ;  with  passions 
not  strong  only,  but  noble,  and  of  the  sort  in  which  great  3° 


84  Essay  on  Burns 

virtues  and  great  poems  take  their  rise.  It  is  reverence, 
it  is  love  towards  all  Nature  that  inspires  him,  that  opens 
his  eyes  to  its  beauty,  and  makes  heart  and  voice  elo- 
quent in  its  praise.  There  is  a  true  old  saying,  that 
3 l*  Love  furthers  knowledge  :  "  but  above  all,  it  is  the  liv- 
ing essence  of  that  knowledge  which  makes  poets ;  the 
first  principle  of  its  existence,  increase,  activity.  Of 
Burns's  fervid  affection,  his  generous  all-embracing  Love, 
we  have  spoken  already,  as  of  the  grand  distinction  of 

io  htevnature,  seen  equally  in  word  and  deed,  in  his  Life  and 
in  his  Writings.  It  were  easy  to  multiply  examples.  Not 
man  only,  but  all  that  environs  man  in  the  material  and 
moral  universe,  is  lovely  in  his  sight :  "  the  hoary  haw- 
thorn," the  "troop  of  gray  plover,"  the  "solitary  cur- 

15 lew,"  all  are  dear  to  him;  all  live  in  this  Earth  along 
with  bim,  and  to  all  he  is  knit  as  in  mysterious  brother- 
hood. How  touching  is  it,  for  instance,  that,  amidst  the 
gloom  of  personal  misery,  brooding  over  the  wintry  deso- 
lation  without   him  and  within  him,  he  thinks  of  the 

20"  ourie *  cattle  "  and  "  silly  sheep,"  and  their  sufferings  in 
the  pitiless  storm  ! 

I  thought  me  on  the  ourie  cattle, 
Or  silly  sheep,  wha  bide  this  brattle  2 

O'  wintry  war, 
J5  Or  thro*  the  drift,  deep-lairing,3  sprattle,* 

Beneath  a  scaur.5 
Ilk6  happing  bird,  wee  helpless  thing, 

1  Shivering.      2  Noisy  onset.       8  Sticking  or  sinking  in  mud. 
*  Scramble.        5  Cliff.        6  Every. 


Essay  on  Burns  85 

That  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing, 

What  comes  o'  thee? 
Where  wilt  thou  cow'r  thy  chittering  l  wing, 

And  close  thy  ee?  5 

The  tenant  of  the  mean  hut,  with  its  "  ragged  roof  and 
chinky  wall,"  has  a  heart  to  pity  even  these  !  This  is 
worth  several  homilies  on  Mercy ;  for  it  is  the  voice  of 
Mercy  herself.  Burns,  indeed,  lives  in  sympathy;  his 
soul  rushes  forth  into  all  realms  of  being ;  nothing  that  10 
has  existence  can  be  indifferent  to  him.  The  very  Devil 
he  cannot  hate  with  right  orthodoxy : 

But  fare  you  weel,  auld  Nickie-ben  ; 

O,  wad  ye  tak  a  thought  and  men' ! 

Ye  aiblins  2  might,  —  I  dinna  ken,  —  1$ 

Still  hae  a  stake; 
I'm  wae  3  to  think  upo'  yon  den, 

Even  for  your  sake ! 

"He  is  the   father  of  curses  and  lies,"  said  Dr.  Slop; 
" and  is  cursed  and  damned  already."  —  "I  am  sorry  for 20 
it,"  quoth  my  uncle  Toby  !  —  a  Poet  without  Love  were 
a  physical  and  metaphysical  impossibility. 

But  has  it  not  been  said,  in  contradiction  to  this  prin- 
ciple, that  "  Indignation  makes  verses  "?  It  has  been  so 
said,  and  is  true  enough  :  but  the  contradiction  is  appar-  25 
ent,  not  real.  The  Indignation  which  makes  verses  is, 
properly  speaking,  an  inverted  Love ;  the  love  of  some 
right,  some  worth,  some  goodness,  belonging  to  ourselves 

1  Trembling  with  cold.        2  Perhaps.        3  Sorrowful. 


86  Essay  on  Burns 

or  others,  which  has  been  injured,  and  which  this  tem- 
pestuous feeling  issues  forth  to  defend  and  avenge.  No 
selfish  fury  of  heart,  existing  there  as  a  primary  feeling, 
and  without  its  opposite,  ever  produced  much  Poetry : 

5  otherwise,  we  suppose,  the  Tiger  were  the  most  musical 
of  all  our  choristers.  Johnson  said,  he  loved  a  good 
hater ;  by  which  he  must  have  meant,  not  so  much  one 
that  hated  violently,  as  one  that  hated  wisely ;  hated 
baseness  from  love  of  nobleness0     However,  in  spite  of 

io  Johnson's  paradox,  tolerable  enough  for  once  in  speech, 
but  which  need  not  have  been  so  often  adopted  in  print 
since  then,  we  rather  believe  that  good  men  deal  spar- 
ingly in  hatred,  either  wise  or  unwise :  nay,  that  a 
(i  good  "  hater  is  still  a  desideratum  in  this  world.     The 

15  Devil,  at  least,  who  passes  for  the  chief  and  best  of  that 
class,  is  said  to  be  nowise  an  amiable  character. 

Of  the  verses  which  Indignation  makes,  Burns  has  also 
given  us  specimens  :  and  among  the  best  that  were  ever 

"*  given.     Who  will   forget  his  Dweller  in  yon  Dungeon 

20 dark;  a  piece  that  might  have  been  chanted  by  the 
Furies  of  ^Eschylus?  The  secrets  of  the  Infernal  Pit  are 
laid  bare  ;  a  boundless  baleful  "  darkness  visible  "  ;  and 
streaks  of  hell-fire  quivering  madly  in  its  black  haggard 
bosom ! 

25  Dweller  in  yon  Dungeon  dark, 

Hangman  of  Creation,  mark ! 

Who  in  widow's  weeds  appears, 

Laden  with  unhonoured  years. 

Noosing  with  care  a  bursting  purse, 
30  Baited  with  many  ?.  deadly  curse  I 


Essay  on  Burns  87 

Why  should  we  speak  of  Scots  wha  hae  wP  Wallace 
bled ;  since  all  know  of  it,  from  the  king  to  the  meanest 
of  his  subjects?  This  dithyrambic  was  composed  on 
horseback ;  in  riding  in  the  middle  of  tempests,  over  the 
wildest  Galloway  moor,  in  company  with  a  Mr.  Syme,  5 
who,  observing  the  poet's  looks,  forbore  to  speak, —  ju- 
diciously enough,  for  a  man  composing  Bruce' s  Address 
might  be  unsafe  to  trifle  with.  Doubtless  this  stern  hymn 
was  singing  itself,  as  he  formed  it,  through  the  soul  of 
Burns  :  but  to  the  external  ear,  it  should  be  sung  with  the  10 
throat  of  the  whirlwind.  So  long  as  there  is  warm  blood 
in  the  heart  of  Scotchman  or  man,  it  will  move  in  fierce 
thrills  under  this  war-ode ;  the  best,  we  believe,  that  was 
ever  written  by  any  pen. 

Another  wild  stormful  Song,  that  dwells  in  our  ear  and  15 
mind  with  a  strange  tenacity,  is  Macphersori *s  Farewell. 
Perhaps   there  is  something  in  the  tradition  itself  that 
co-operates.    For  was   not   this*  grim  Celt,  this   shaggy 
Northland  Cacus,  that  "  lived  a  life  of  sturt 1  and  strife, 
and  died  by  treacherie,"  —  was  not   he   too  one  of  the  20 
Nimrods  and  Napoleons  of  the  earth,  in  the  arena  of  his 
own  remote  misty  glens,  for  want  of  a  clearer  and  wider 
one?     Nay,  was  there  not  a  touch  of  grace  given  him? 
A  fibre  of  love  and  softness,  of  poetry  itself,  must  have 
lived  in  his  savage  heart :  for  he  composed  that  air  the  25 
night   before  his  execution ;  on  the  wings  of  that  poor 
melody  his  better  soul  would  soar  away  above  oblivion, 

1  Worry. 


1  88  Essay  on  Burns 

pain,  and  all  the  ignominy  and  despair,  which,  like  an 
avalanche,  was  hurling  him  to  the  abyss  !  Here  also,  as 
at  Thebes,  and  in  Pelops'  line,  was  material  Fate  matched 
against  man's  Free-will ;  matched  in  bitterest  though 
5  obscure  duel ;  and  the  ethereal  soul  sank  not,  even  in  its 
blindness,  without  a  cry  which  has  survived  it.  But 
who,  except  Burns,  could  have  given  words  to  such  a 
soul;  words  that  we  never  listen  to  without  a  strange 
half- barbarous,  half-poetic  fellow-feeling? 

10  Sae  rantingly,1  sae  wantonly^ 

Sae  dauntingly  gaed  he  ; 
He  play\i  a  spring,  and  danced  it  round) 
Below  the  gallows-tree. 

Under  a  lighter  disguise,  the  same  principle  of  Love, 

15  which  we  have  recognized  as  the  great  characteristic  of 

"v  Burns,  and  of  all  true  poets,  occasionally  manifests  itself  in 

the  shape  of  Humour.     Everywhere,  indeed,  in  his  sunny 

moods,   a  full  buoyant  flood  of  mirth  rolls  through  the 

mind  of  Burns ;  he  rises  to  the  high,  and  stoops  to  the 

20  low,   and   is   brother  and  playmate  to  all  Nature.     We 

speak   not   of  his  bold  and  often  irresistible  faculty  of 

caricature  ;  for  this  is  Drollery  rather  than  Humour  :  but 

a  much  tenderer  sportfulness  dwells  in  him  ;  and  comes 

forth  here  and  there,  in  evanescent  and  beautiful  touches  ; 

'25  as  in  his  Address  to  the  Mouse,  or  the  Farmer's  Mare,  or 

in  his  Elegy  on  poor  Mailie,  which  last  may  be  reckoned 

his  happiest  effort  of  this  kind.     In  these  pieces  there  are 

1  Gleefully. 


Essay  on  Burns  89 

traits  of  a  Humour  as  fine  as  that  of  Sterne ;  yet  alto- 
gether different,  original,  peculiar,  —  the  Humour  of  Burns, 

Of  the  tenderness,  the  playful  pathos,  and  many  other 
kindred  qualities  of  Burns's  Poetry,  much  more  might  be 
said ;  but  now,  with  these  poor  outlines  of  a  sketch,  we  5 
must  prepare  to  quit  this  part  of  our  subject.     To  speak 
of  his  individual  Writings,  adequately  and  with  any  detail, 
would  lead  us  far  beyond  our  limits.     As  already  hinted, 
we  can  look  on  but  few  of  these  pieces  as,  in  strict  critical  v 
language,  deserving  the  name  of  Poems  :  they  are  rhymed  10 
eloquence,   rhymed  pathos,  rhymed  sense ;  yet   seldom 
essentially  melodious,  aerial,  poetical.      Tam  c?1  Shanter 
itself,  which  enjoys  so  high  a  favour,  does  not  appear  to. 
us  at  all  decisively  to  come  under  this  last  category.     It 
is  not  so  much  a  poem,  as  a  piece  of  sparkling  rhetoric ;  15 
the  heart  and  body  of  the  story  still  lies  hard  and  dead. 
He  has  not  gone  back,  much  less  carried  us  back,  into 
that  dark,  earnest,  wondering  age,  when  the  tradition  was 
believed,  and  when  it  took  its  rise ;  he  does  not  attempt, 
by  any  new-modelling  of  his  supernatural  ware,  to  strike  20 
anew  that  deep  mysterious  chord  of  human  nature,  which 
once  responded  to  such  things  ;  and  which  lives  in  us  too, 
and  will  forever  live,  though  silent  now,  or  vibrating  with 
far  other  notes,  and  to  far  different  issues.     Our  German 
readers  will  understand  us,  when  we  say,  that  he  is  not  25 
the  Tieck  but  the  Musaus  of  this  tale.     Externally  it  is 
all  green  and  living ;  yet  look  closer,  it  is  no  firm  growth, 
but  only  ivy  on  a  rock.     The  piece  does  not  properly  co- 


90  Essay  on  Burns 

here  :  the  strange  chasm  which  yawns  in  our  incredulous 
imaginations  between  the  Ayr  public-house  and  the  gate 
of  Tophet,  is  nowhere  bridged  over,  nay,  the  idea  of 
such  a  bridge  is  laughed  at ;  and  thus  the  Tragedy  of  the 

5  adventure  becomes  a  mere  drunken  phantasmagoria,  or 
many-coloured  spectrum  painted  on  ale-vapours,  and  the 
Farce  alone  has  any  reality.  We  do  not  say  that  Burns 
should  have  made  much  more  of  this  tradition ;  we 
rather  think  that,  for  strictly  poetical  purposes,  not  much 

to  was  to  be  made  of  it.  Neither  are  we  blind  to  the  deep, 
varied,  genial  power  displayed  in  what  he  has  actually 
accomplished ;  but  we  find  far  more  "  Shakespearean " 
qualities,  as  these  of  Tam  o*  Shanter  have  been  fondly 
named,  in  many  of  his  other  pieces ;  nay,  we  incline  to 

15  believe  that  this  latter  might  have  been  written,  all  but 
quite  as  well,  by  a  man  who,  in  place  of  genius,  had 
only  possessed  talent. 

Perhaps  we  may  venture  to  say,  that  the  most  strictly 
\      poetical  of  all  his  u  poems  "  is  one  which  does  not  appear 

20  in  Currie's  Edition ;  but  has  been  often  printed  before 
and  since,  under  the  humble  title  of  The  Jolly  Beggars. 
The  subject  truly  is  among  the  lowest  in  nature ;  but  it 
only  the  more  shows  our  Poet's  gift  in  raising  it  into  the 
domain    of    Art.      To    our    minds,    this    piece    seems 

25  thoroughly    compacted  ;    melted  together,  refined ;    and 

poured  forth  in  one  flood  of  true  liquid  harmony.     It  is 

light,  airy,  soft  of  movement ;  yet  sharp  and  precise  in  its 

details;  every   face   is   a   portrait:  that   raucle1  carlin? 

1  Sturdy.  2  Beldam. 


Essay  on  Burns  91 

that  wee  Apollo,  that  Son  of  Mars,  are  Scottish,  yet 
ideal ;  the  scene  is  at  once  a  dream,  and  the  very  Rag- 
castle  of  "  Poosie-Nansie."  Farther,  it  seems  in  a  con- 
siderable degree  complete,  a  real  self-supporting  Whole, 
which  is  the  highest  merit  in  a  poem.  The  blanket  of  5 
the  Night  is  drawn  asunder  for  a  moment  \  in  full,  ruddy, 
flaming  light,  these  rough  tatterdemalions  are  seen  in  their 
boisterous  revel  ;  for  the  strong  pulse  of  Life  vindicates 
its  right  to  gladness  even  here;  and  when  the  curtain 
closes,  we  prolong  the  action,  without  effort ;  the  next  10 
day  as  the  last,  our  Caird1  and  our  Ballad?nonger  are 
singing  and  soldiering ;  their  "  brats  and  callets  " 2  are 
hawking,  begging,  cheating ;  and  some  other  night,  in 
new  combinations,  they  will  wring  from  Fate  another  hour 
of  wassail  and  good  cheer.  Apart  from  the  universal  15 
sympathy  with  man  which  this  again  bespeaks  in  Burns, 
a  genuine  inspiration  and  no  inconsiderable  technical 
talent  are  manifested  here.  There  is  the  fidelity,  hu- 
mour, warm  life,  and  accurate  painting  and  grouping  of 
some  Teniers,  for  whom  hostlers  and  carousing  peasants  20 
are  not  without  significance.  It  would  be  strange, 
doubtless,  to  call  this  the  best  of  Burns's  writings  :  we 
mean  to  say  only,  that  it  seems  to  us  the  most  perfect 
of  its  kind,  as  a  piece  of  poetical  composition,  strictly 
so  called.  In  the  Beggars'  Opera,  in  the  Beggars'  25 
Bush,  as  other  critics  have  already  remarked,  there 
is   nothing  which,   in    real    poetic   vigour,    equals    this 

1  Tinker,  2  Loose  women. 


92  Essay  on  Burns 

Cantata;  nothing,   as  we   think,  which    comes  within 
many  degrees  of  it.    . 

But  by  far  the  most  finished,  complete  and  truly 
inspired  pieces  of  Burns  are,  without  dispute,  to  be  found 

5  among  his  Songs.  It  is  here  that,  although  through 
a  small  aperture,  his  light  shines  with  least  obstruction; 
in  its  highest  beauty  and  pure  sunny  clearness.  The 
reason  may  be,  that  Song  is  a  brief  simple  species  of 
composition ;  and  requires  nothing  so  much  for  its  per- 

10  fection  as  genuine  poetic  feeling,  genuine  music  of  heart. 
Yet  the  Song  has  its  rules  equally  with  the  Tragedy; 
rules  which  in  most  cases  are  poorly  fulfilled,  in  many 
cases  are  not  so  much  as  felt.  We  might  write  a  long 
essay  on  the  Songs  of  Burns  ;  which  we  reckon  by  far  the 

15  best  that  Britain  has  yet  produced  :  for  indeed,  since  the 

s     era  of  Queen  ■  Elizabeth,  we  know  not  that,  by  any  other 

hand,  aught  truly  worth  attention  has  been  accomplished 

in  this  department.     True,  we  have  songs  enough  "  by 

persons  of  quality  ";  we  have  tawdry,  hollow,  wine- bred 

ic  madrigals;  many  a  rhymed  speech  "  in  the  flowing  and 
watery  vein  of  Ossorius  the  Portugal  Bishop,"  rich  in 
sonorous  words,  and,  for  moral,  dashed  perhaps  with 
some  tint  of  a  sentimental  sensuality ;  all  which  many 
persons  cease  not  from  endeavouring  to  sing ;  though  for 

25  most  part,  we  fear,  the  music  is  but  from  the  throat  out- 
wards, or  at  best  from  some  region  far  enough  short  of 
the  Soul;  not  in  which,  but  in  a  certain  inane  Limbo  of 
the  Fancy,  or  even  in  some  vaporous  debatable-land  on 


Essay  on  Burns  g$ 

the  outskirts  of  the  Nervous  System,  most  of  such  madri- 
gals and  rhymed  speeches  seem  to  have  originated. 

With   the  Songs  of  Burns  we   must  not   name  these 
things.     Independently  of  the  clear,  manly,  heartfelt  sen- 
timent that  ever  pervades  his  poetry,  his  Songs  are  honest  5 
in  another  point  of  view :  in  form,  as  well  as  in  spirit. 
They  do  not  affect  to  be  set  to  music,  but  they  actually 
and  in  themselves  are  music  \  they  have  received  their  \ 
life,  and  fashioned  themselves  together,  in  the  medium  of 
Harmony,  as  Venus  rose  from  the  bosom  of  the  sea.     The  ic 
story,  the  feeling,  is  not  detailed,  but  suggested  ;  not  said, 
or  spouted,  in  rhetorical   completeness  and  coherence ; 
but  sung,  in  fitful  gushes,  in  glowing  hints,  in  fantastic 
breaks,  in  warblings  not  of  the  voice  only,  but  of  the 
whole  mind.     We  consider  this  to  be  the  essence  of  a  15 
song ;  and  that  no  songs  since  the  little  careless  catches, 
and  as  it  were  drops  of  song,  which  Shakespeare  has  here 
and  there  sprinkled  over  his  plays,  fulfil  this  condition  in 
nearly  the  same  degree  as  most  of  Burns's  do.     Such  grace 
and  truth  of  external  movement,  too,  presupposes  in  gen-  20 
sral  a  corresponding  force  and  truth  of  sentiment  and  in- 
ward meaning.     The  Songs  of  Burns  are  not  more  perfect  * 
in  the  former  quality  than  in  the  iatter.     With  what  ten- 
derness he  sings,  yet  with  what  vehemence  and  entireness  ! 
There  is  a  piercing  wail  in  his  sorrow,  the  purest  rapture  25 
in  his  joy ;  he  burns  with  the  sternest  ire,  or  laughs  with 
the  loudest  or  sliest  mirth ;  and  yet  he  is  sweet  and  soft, 
"  sweet  as  the  smile  when  fond  lovers  meet,  and  soft  as 
their  parting  tear."     If  we  farther  take  into  account  the 


94  Essay  on  Burns 

immense  variety  of  his  subjects;  how,  from  the  loud 
flowing  revel  in  Willie  brew'd  a  Peck  o1  Maut,  to  the  still, 
rapt  enthusiasm  of  sadness  for  Mary  in  Heaven;  from 
the  glad  kind  greeting  of  Aula7  Lang  Syne,  or  the  comic 
5  archness  of  Duncan  Gray,  to  the  fire-eyed  fury  of  Scots 
wha  hae  wi1  Wallace  bled,  he  has  found  a  tone  and  words 
for  every  mood  of  man's  heart,  —  it  will  seem  a  small  praise 
if  we  rank  him  as  the  first  of  all  our  Song- writers  ;  for  we 
know  not  where  to  find  one  worthy  of  being  second  to  him. 

io  It  is  on  his  Songs,  as  we  believe,  that  Burns's  chief  in- 
fluence as  an  author  will  ultimately  be  found  to  depend  : 
nor,  if  our  Fletcher's  aphorism  is  true,  shall  we  account 
this  a  small  influence.  "  Let  me  make  the  songs  of  a 
people,''  said  he,  "and  you  shall  make  its  laws."     Surely, 

15  if  ever  any  Poet  might  have  equalled  himself  with  Legis- 
lators on  this  ground,  it  was  Burns.  His  Songs  are  already 
part  of  the  mother-tongue,  not  of  Scotland  only  but  of 
Britain,  and  of  the  millions  that  in  all  ends  of  the  earth 
speak  a  British  language.     In  hut  and  hall,  as  the  heart 

20  unfolds  itself  in  many-coloured  joy  and  woe  of  existence, 
the  name,  the  voice  of  that  joy  and  that  woe,  is  the  name 
and  voice  which  Burns  has  given  them.  Strictly  speaking, 
perhaps  no  British  man  has  so  deeply  affected  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  so  many  men,  as  this  solitary  and  altogether 

25  private  individual,  with  means  apparently  the  humblest. 

In  another  point  of  view, 'moreover,  we  incline  to  think 

that  Burns's  influence  may  have  been  considerable  :  we 

mean,  as  exerted  specially  on  the  Literature  of  his  country, 

at  least  on  the  Literature  of  Scotland.     Among  the  great 


Essay  on  Burns  95 

changes  which  British,  particularly  Scottish  literature,  has 
undergone  since  that  period,  one  of  the  greatest  will  be 
found  to  consist  in  its  remarkable  increase  of  nationality.  v 
Even  the  English  writers,  most  popular  in  Burns's  time, 
were  little  distinguished  for  their  literary  patriotism,  in  this  5 
its  best  sense.  A  certain  attenuated  cosmopolitanism  had,  in 
good  measure,  taken  place  of  the  old  insular  home-feeling ; 
literature  was,  as  it  were,  without  any  local  environment ; 
was  not  nourished  by  the  affections  which  spring  from  a 
native  soil.     Our  Grays  and  Glovers  seemed  to  write  al- 10 
most  as  if  in  vacuo ;  the  thing  written  bears  no  mark  of 
place ;  it  is  not  written  so  much  for  Englishmen,  as  for 
men  ;  or  rather,  which  is  the  inevitable  result  of  this,  for 
certain    Generalizations  which   philosophy  termed  men. 
Goldsmith  is  an  exception  :  not  so  Johnson  ;  the  scene  of  15 
his  Rambler  is  little  more  English  than  that  of  his  Rasselas. 
But  if  such  was,  in  some  degree,  the  case  with  Eng- 
land, it  was,  in  the  highest  degree,  the  case  with  Scotland. 
In  fact,  our  Scottish  literature  had,  at  that  period,  a  very 
singular  aspect ;  unexampled,  so  far  as  we  know,  except  20 
perhaps  at  Geneva,  where  the  same  state  of  matters  ap- 
pears still  to  continue.     For  a  long  period  after  Scotland 
became  British,  we  had  no  literature :  at  the  date  when 
Addison  and  Steele  were  writing  their  Spectators,  our  good 
John   Boston  was  writing,  with   the  noblest   intent,  but  25 
alike  in  defiance  of  grammar  and  philosophy,  his  Fourfold 
State  of  Man.     Then  came  the  schisms  in  our  National 
Church,  and  the  fiercer   schisms  in   our   Body  Politic ; 
Theologic  ink,  and  Jacobite  blood,  with  gall  enough  in 


g6  Essay  on  Burns 

both  cases,  seemed  to  have  blotted  out  the  intellect  of 
the  country :  however,  it  was  only  obscured,  not  oblit- 
erated. Lord  Karnes  made  nearly  the  first  attempt  at 
writing  English ;  and  ere  long,  Hume,  Robertson,  Smith, 
5  and  a  whole  host  of  followers,  attracted  hither  the  eyes 
of  all  Europe.  And  yet  in  this  brilliant  resuscitation  of 
our  "  fervid  genius,"  there  was  nothing  truly  Scottish, 
nothing  indigenous ;  except,  perhaps,  the  natural  impetu- 

*  osity  of  intellect,  which  we  sometimes   claim,    and   are 

io  sometimes  upbraided  with,  as  a  characteristic  of  our 
nation.  It  is  curious  to  remark  that  Scotland,  so  full  of 
writers,  had  no  Scottish  culture,  nor  indeed  any  English ; 
our  culture  was  almost  exclusively  French.  It  was  by 
studying  Racine  and  Voltaire,  Batteux  and  Boileau,  that 

15  Karnes  had  trained  himself  to  be  a  critic  and  philosopher  ; 
it  was  the  light  of  Montesquieu  and  Mably  that  guided 
Roberston  in  his  political  speculations ;  Quesnay's  lamp 
that  kindled  the  lamp  of  Adam  Smith.  Hume  was  too 
rich  a  man  to  borrow ;  and  perhaps  he  reacted  on  the 

20  French  more  than  he  was  acted  on  by  them  :  but  neither 
had  he  aught  to  do  with  Scotland ;  Edinburgh,  equally 
with  La  Fleche,  was  but  the  lodging  and  laboratory,  in 
which  he  not  so  much  morally  lived,  as  metaphysically 
investigated.     Never,  perhaps,  was  there  a  class  of  writers 

25  so  clear  and  well-ordered,  yet  so  totally  destitute,  to  all 
appearance,  of  any  patriotic  affection,  nay,  of  any  human 
affection  whatever.  The  French  wits  of  the  period  were  as 
unpatriotic  :  but  their  general  deficiency  in  moral  princi- 
ple, not  to  say  their  avowed  sensuality  and  unbelief  in  all 


Essay  on  Burns  97 

virtue,  strictly  so  called,  render  this  accountable  enough. 
We  hope  there  is  a  patriotism  founded  on  something 
better  than  prejudice ;  that  our  country  may  be  dear  to 
us,  without  injury  to  our  philosophy ;  that  in  loving  and 
justly  prizing  all  other  lands,  we  may  prize  justly,  and  yet  5 
love  before  all  others,  our  own  stern  Motherland,  and  the 
venerable  Structure  of  social  and  moral  Life,  which  Mind 
has  through  long  ages  been  building  up  for  us  there. 
Surely  there  is  nourishment  for  the  better  part  of  man's 
heart  in  all  this  :  surely  the  roots,  that  have  fixed  them-  ig 
selves  in  the  very  core  of  man's  being,  may  be  so  culti- 
vated as  to  grow  up  not  into  briers,  but  into  roses,  in  the 
field  of  his  life  !  Our  Scottish  sages  have  no  such  pro- 
pensities :  the  field  of  their  life  shows  neither  briers  nor 
roses ;  but  only  a  flat,  continuous  thrashing-floor  for  15 
Logic,  whereon  all  questions,  from  the  "  Doctrine  of  Rent " 
to  the  u  Natural  History  of  Religion, "  are  thrashed  and 
sifted  with  the  same  mechanical  impartiality  ! 

With  Sir  Walter  Scott  at  the  head  of  our  literature,  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  much  of  this  evil  is  past,  or  20 
rapidly  passing  away  :  our  chief  literary  men,  whatever 
other  faults  they  may  have,  no  longer  live  among  us  like 
a  French  Colony,  or  some  knot  of  Propaganda  Mission- 
aries ;  but  like  natural-born  subjects  of  the  soil,  partaking 
and  sympathizing  in  all  our  attachments,  humours,  and  25 
habits.  Our  literature  no  longer  grows  in  water  but  in 
mould,  and  with  the  true  racy  virtues  of  the  soil  and  cli- 
mate. How  much  of  this  change  may  be  due  to  Burns, 
or  to  any  other  individual,  it  might  be  difficult  to  estimate. 
caklyle's  essay  on  burns  —  7 


98  Essay  on  Burns 

Direct  literary  imitation  of  Burns  was  not  to  be  looked  for. 
But  his  example,  in  the  fearless  adoption  of  domestic  sub- 
jects, could  not  but  operate  from  afar ;  and  certainly  in 
no  heart  did  the  love  of  country  ever  burn  with  a  warmer 
5  glow  than  in  that  of  Burns  :  "  a  tide  of  Scottish  prejudice," 
as  he  modestly  calls  this  deep  and  generous  feeling,  "  had 
been  poured  along  his  veins ;  and  he  felt  that  it  would 
boil  there  till  the  flood-gates  shut  in  eternal  rest."  It 
seemed  to  him,  as  if  he  could  do  so  little  for  his  country, 

10  and  yet  would  so  gladly  have  done  all.  One  small  prov- 
ince stood  open  for  him,  —  that  of  Scottish  Song ;  and 
how  eagerly  he  entered  on  it,  how  devotedly  he  laboured 
there  !  In  his  toilsome  journeyings,  this  object  never 
quits  him ;  it  is  the  little  happy-valley  of  his  careworn 

15  heart.  In  the  gloom  of  his  own  affliction,  he  eagerly 
searches  after  some  lonely  brother  of  the  muse,  and  re- 
joices to  snatch  one  other  name  from  the  oblivion  that, 
was  covering  it !  These  were  early .  feelings,  and  they 
abode  with  him  to  the  end  : 

«o  •    .     .     A  wish  (I  mind  its  power), 

A  wish,  that  to  my  latest  hour 
Will  strongly  heave  my  breast,  — 
That  I,  for  poor  auld  Scotland's  sake, 
Some  useful  plan  or  bock  could  make, 

te  Or  sing  a  sang  at  least. 

The  rough  bur  Thistle  spreading  wide 

Amang  the  bearded  bear,1 
I  turn'd  my  weeding-clips2  aside, 

And  spared  the  symbol  dear. 

1  Barley.  2  Shears. 


Essay  on  Burns  99 

But  to  leave  the  mere  literary  character  of  Burns, 
which  has  already  detained  us  too  long.  Far  more  inter- 
esting than  any  of  his  written  works,  as  it  appears  to  us, 
are  his  acted  ones :  the  Life  he  willed  and  was  fated  to 
lead  among  his  fellow-men.  These  Poems  are  but  like  5 
little  rhymed  fragments  scattered  here  and  there  in  the 
grand  unrhymed  Romance  of  his  earthly  existence  ;  and  it 
is  only  when  intercalated  in  this  at  their  proper  places, 
that  they  attain  their  full  measure  of  significance.  And 
this,  too,  alas,  was  but  a  fragment !  The  plan  of  a  mighty  10 
edifice  had  been  sketched ;  some  columns,  porticos,  firm 
masses  of  building,  stand  completed  j  the  rest  more  or 
less  clearly  indicated ;  with  many  a  far-stretching  ten- 
dency, which  only  studious  and  friendly  eyes  can  now 
trace  towards  the  purposed  termination.  For  the  work  is  15 
broken  off  in  the  middle,  almost  in  the  beginning ;  and 
rises  among  us,  beautiful  and  sad,  at  once  unfinished  and  a 
ruin  !  If  charitable  judgement  was  necessary  in  estimating 
his  Poems,  and  justice  required  that  the  aim  and  the 
manifest  power  to  fulfil  it  must  often  be  accepted  for  the  20 
fulfilment ;  much  more  is  this  the  case  in  regard  to  his 
Life,  the  sum  and  result  of  all  his  endeavours,  where  his 
difficulties  came  upon  him  not  in  detail  only,  but  in 
mass ;  and  so  much  has  been  left  unaccomplished,  nay, 
was  mistaken,,  and  altogether  marred.  25 

Properly  speaking,  there  is  but  one  era  in  the  life  of 
Burns,  and  that  the  earliest.  We  have  not  youth  and 
manhood,  but  only  youth  :  for,  to  the  end,  we  discern  no 
decisive  change  in  the  complexion  of  his  character ;  in  his 


ioo  Essay  on  Burns 

thirty-seventh  year,  he  is  still,  as  it  were  in  youth.  With 
all  that  resoluteness  of  judgment,  that  penetrating  insight, 
and  singular  maturity  of  intellectual  power,  exhibited  in 
his  writings,  he  never  attains  to  any  clearness  regarding 
5  himself;  to  the  last,  he  never  ascertains  his  peculiar  aim, 
even  with  such  distinctness  as  is  common  among  ordinary 
men  ;  and  therefore  never  can  pursue  it  with  that  single- 
ness of  will,  which  insures  success  and  some  contentment 
to  such  men.     To  the  last,  he  wavers  between  two  pur- 

io  poses  :  glorying  in  his  talent,  like  a  true  poet,  he  yet  can- 
not consent  to  make  this  his  chief  and  sole  glory,  and  to 
follow  it  as  the  one  thing  needful,  through  poverty  or 
riches,  through  good  or  evil  report.  Another  far  meaner 
ambition   still  cleaves   to   him ;    he   must    dream    and 

15  struggle  about  a  certain  "  Rock  of  Independence " ; 
which,  natural  and  even  admirable  as  it  might  be,  was 
still  but  a  warring  with  the  world,  on  the  comparatively 
insignificant  ground  of  his  being  more  completely  or  less 
completely   supplied   with   money   than   others ;  of  his 

20  standing  at  a  higher  or  at  a  lower  altitude  in  a  general 
estimation  than  others.  For  the  world  still  appears  to 
him,  as  to  the  young,  in  borrowed  colours  :  he  expects 
from  it  what  it  cannot  give  to  any  man ;  seeks  for  con- 
tentment, not  within  himself,  in  action  and  wise  effort,  but 

25  from  without,  in  the  kindness  of  circumstances,  in  love, 
friendship,  honour,  pecuniary  ease.  He  would  be  happy, 
not  actively  and  in  himself,  but  passively  and  from  some 
ideal  cornucopia  of  Enjoyments,  not  earned  by  his  own 
labour,  but  showered   on  him  by  the   beneficence  of 


Essay  on  Burns.  tori 

Destiny.  Thus,  like  a  young  man;  he^eatfno^ircl  Iim.sdf  S 
up  for  any  worthy  well-calculated  goal,  but  swerves  to  and 
fro,  between  passionate  hope  and  remorseful  disappoint- 
ment :  rushing  onwards  with  a  deep  tempestuous  force, 
he  surmounts  or  breaks  asunder  many  a  barrier ;  travels,  5 
nay,  advances  far,  but  advancing  only  under  uncertain 
guidance,  is  ever  and  anon  turned  from  his  path ;  and  to 
the  last  cannot  reach  the  only  true  happiness  of  a  man, 
that  of  clear  decided  Activity  in  the  sphere  for  which,  by 
nature  and  circumstances,  he  has  been  fitted  and  appointed.  10 

We  do  not  say  these  things  in  dispraise  of  Burns  ;  nay, 
perhaps,  they   but  interest   us  the   more    in   his    favour. 
This  blessing  is  not  given  soonest  to  the  best ;  but  rather, 
it  is  often  the  greatest  minds  that  are  latest  in  obtaining 
it ;  for  where  most  is  to  be  developed,  most  time  may  be  15 
required  to  develop  it.     A  complex  condition  had  been 
•  assigned  him  from  without ;  as  complex  a  condition  from 
within:  no  "  pre-established  harmony"  existed  between 
the  clay  soil  of  Mossgiel  and  the  empyrean  soul  of  Robert 
Burns  ;  it  was  not  wonderful  that  the  adjustment  between  20 
them  should  have  been  long  postponed,  and  his  arm  long 
cumbered,  and  his  sight  confused,  in  so  vast  and  discord-  ' 
ant  an  economy  as  he  had  been  appointed  steward  over. 
Byron  was,  at  his  death,  but  a  year  younger  than  Burns ; 
and  through  life,  as  it  might  have  appeared,  far   more  25 
simply  situated  :  yet  in  him  too  we  can  trace  no  such  ad- 
justment, no  such  moral  manhood ;  but  at  best,  and  only 
a  little  before  his  end,  the  beginning  of  what  seemed  such. 

By  much  the  most  striking  incident  in  Burns's  Life 


iC2  Essay  on  Burns 

is  His  journey  lo*  Edinburgh  ;  but  perhaps  a  still  more 
important  one  is  his  residence  at  Irvine,  so  early  as  in  his 
twenty-third  year.  Hitherto  his  life  had  been  poor  and 
toilworn ;  but  otherwise  not  ungenial,  and,  with  all  its 
5  distresses,  by  no  means  unhappy.  In  his  parentage,  de- 
ducting outward  circumstances,  he  had  every  reason  to 
reckon  himself  fortunate.  His  father  was  a  man  of 
thoughtful,  intense,  earnest  character,  as  the  best  of  our 
peasants  are ;  valuing  knowledge,  possessing  some,  and 

io  what  is  far  better  and  rarer,  open-minded  for  more  :  a  man 
with  a  keen  insight  and  devout  heart ;  reverent  towards 
God,  friendly  therefore  at  once,  and  fearless  towards  all 
that  God  has  made  :  in  one  word,  though  but  a  hard- 
handed  peasant,  a  complete  and    fully  unfolded    Man, 

15  Such  a  father  is  seldom  found  in  any  rank  in  society  ;  and 
was  worth  descending  far  in  society  to  seek.  Unfortu- 
nately, he  was  very  poor ;  had  he  been  even  a  little 
richer,  almost  never  so  little,  the  whole  might  have  issued 
far  otherwise.     Mighty  events  turn  on  a  straw ;  the  cross- 

20  ing  of  a  brook  decides  the  conquest  of  the  world.  Had 
this  William  Burns's  small  seven  acres  of  nursery-ground 
anywise  prospered,  the  boy  Robert  had  been  sent  to 
school ;  had  struggled  forward,  as  so  many  weaker  men 
do,  to  some  university ;  come  forth  not  as  a  rustic  wonder, 

25  but  as  a  regular  well-trained  intellectual  workman,  and 
changed  the  whole  course  of  British  Literature,  —  for  it 
lay  in  him  to  have  done  this  !  But  the  nursery  did  not 
prosper ;  poverty  sank  his  whole  family  below  the  help  of 
even  our  cheap  school-system  :  Burns  remained  a  hard- 


Essay  on  Burns  103 

worked  ploughboy,  and  British  literature  took  its  own 
course.  Nevertheless,  even  in  this  rugged  scene  there 
is  much  to  nourish  him.  If  he  drudges,  it  is  with  his 
brother,  and  for  his  father  and  mother,  whom  he  loves, 
and  would  fain  shield  from  want.  Wisdom  is  not  banished  5 
from  their  poor  hearth,  nor  the  balm  of  natural  feeling : 
the  solemn  words,  Let  us  worship  God,  are  heard  there 
from  a  "  priest-like  father "  ;  if  threatenings  of  unjust 
men  throw  mother  and  children  into  tears,  these  are  tears 
not  of  grief  only,  but  of  holiest  affection ;  every  heart  in  10 
that  humble  group  feels  itself  the  closer  knit  to  every 
other ;  in  their  hard  warfare  they  are  there  together,  a 
"  little  band  of  brethren."  Neither  are  such  tears,  and 
the  deep  beauty  that  dwells  in  them,  their  only  portion. 
Light  visits  the  hearts  as  it  does  the  eyes  of  all  living  :  15 
there  is  a  force,  too,  in  this  youth,  that  enables  him  to 
trample  on  misfortune  ;  nay,  to  bind  it  under  his  feet  to 
make  him  sport.  For  a  bold,  warm,  buoyant  humour  of 
character  has  been  given  him  ;  and  so  the  thick-coming 
shapes  of  evil  are  welcomed  with  a  gay,  friendly  irony,  and  2c 
in  their  closest  pressure  he  bates  no  jot  of  heart  or  hope. 
Vague  yearnings  of  ambition  fail  not,  as  he  grows  up ; 
dreamy  fancies  hang  like  cloud-cities  around  him ;  the 
curtain  of  Existence  is  slowly  rising,  in  many-coloured 
splendour  and  gloom  :  and  the  auroral  light  of  first  love  25 
is  gilding  his  horizon,  and  the  music  of  song  is  on  his 
path ;  and  so  he  walks 

....     in  glory  and  in  joy, 
Behind  his  plough,  upon  the  mountain  side. 


104  Essay  on  Burns 

We  ourselves  know,  from  the  best  evidence,  that  up  to 
this  date  Burns  was  happy ;  nay,  that  he  was  the  gayest, 
brightest,  most  fantastic,  fascinating  being  to  be  found  in 
the  world ;  more  so  even  than  he  ever  afterwards  ap- 
5  peared.  But  now,  at  this  early  age,  he  quits  the  pater- 
nal roof;  goes  forth  into  looser,  louder,  more  exciting 
society;  and  becomes  initiated  in  those  dissipations, 
those  vices,  which  a  certain  class  of  philosophers  have 
asserted  to  be  a  natural  preparative  for  entering  on  active 

to  life ;  a  kind  of  mud-bath,  in  which  the  youth  is,  as  it 
were,  necessitated  to  steep,  and,  we  suppose,  cleanse 
himself,  before  the  real  toga  of  Manhood  can  be  laid  on 
him.  We  shall  not  dispute  much  with  this  class  of 
philosophers ;  we  hope  they  are  mistaken :  for  Sin  and 

15  Remorse  so  easily  beset  us  at  all  stages  of  life,  and  are 
always  such  indifferent  company,  that  it  seems  hard  we 
should,  at  any  stage,  be  forced  and  fated  not  only  to 
meet  but  to  yield  to  them,  and  even  serve  for  a  term  in 
their  leprous  armada.     We  hope  it  is  not  so.     Clear  we 

20  are,  at  all  events,  it  cannot  be  the  training  one  receives 
in  this  Devil's  service,  but  only  our  determining  to  desert 
from  it,  that  fits  us  for  true  manly  Action.  We  become 
men,  not  after  we  have  been  dissipated,  and  disappointed 
in  the  chase  of  false  pleasure ;  but  after  we  have  ascer- 

r.5  tained,  in  any  way,  what  impassable  barriers  hem  us  in 
through  this  life ;  how  mad  it  is  to  hope  for  contentment 
to  our  infinite  soul  from  the  gifts  of  this  extremely  finite 
world;  that  a  man  must  be  sufficient  for  himself;  and 
that  for  suffering  and  enduring  there  is  no  remedy  but 


Essay  on  Burns  105 

striving  and  doing.  Manhood  begins  when  we  have  in 
any  way  made  truce  with  Necessity ;  begins  even  when 
we  have  surrendered  to  Necessity,  as  the  most  part  only 
do  ;  but  begins  joyfully  and  hopefully  only  when  we  have 
reconciled  ourselves  to  Necessity ;  and  thus,  in  reality,  5 
triumphed  over  it,  and  felt  that  in  Necessity  we  are  free. 
Surely,  such  lessons  as  this  last,  which,  in  one  shape  or 
other,  is  the  grand  lesson  for  every  mortal  man,  are  bet- 
ter learned  from  the  lips  of  a  devout  mother,  in  the  looks 
and  actions  of  a  devout  father,  while  the  heart  is  yet  soft  10 
and  pliant,  than  in  collision  with  the  sharp  adamant  of 
Fate,  attracting  us  to  shipwreck  us,  when  the  heart  is 
grown  hard,  and  may  he  broken  before  it  will  become 
contrite.  Had  Burns  continued  to  learn  this,  as  he  was 
already  learning  it,  in  his  father's  cottage,  he  would  have  15 
learned  it  fully,  which  he  never  did ;  and  been  saved 
many  a  lasting  aberration,  many  a  bitter  hour  and  year 
of  remorseful  sorrow. 

It  seems  to  us  another  circumstance  of  fatal  import  in 
Burns's  history,  that  at  this  time  too  he  became  involved  20 
in  the  religious  quarrels  of  his  district ;  that  he  was  en- 
listed and  feasted,  as  the  fighting  man  of  the  New-Light 
Priesthood,  in  their  highly  unprofitable  warfare.  At  the 
tables  of  these  free-minded  clergy  he  learned  much  more 
than  was  needful  for  him.  Such  liberal  ridicule  of  fa-  25 
naticism  awakened  in  his  mind  scruples  about  Religion 
itself;  and  a  whole  world  of  Doubts,  which  it  required 
quite  another  set  of  conjurors  than  these  men  to  exorcise. 
We  do  not  say  that  such  an  intellect  as  his  could  have 


io6  Essay  on  Burns 

escaped  similar  doubts  at  some  period  of  his  history ;  01 
even  that  he  could,  at  a  later  period,  have  come  through 
them  altogether  victorious  and  unharmed  :  but  it  seems 
peculiarly  unfortunate  that  this  time,  above  all  others, 
5  should  have  been  fixed  for  the  encounter.  For  now,  with 
principles  assailed  by  evil  example  from  without,  by 
"passions  raging  like  demons"  from  within,  he  had  little 
need  of  skeptical  misgivings  to  whisper  treason  in  the 
heat  of  the  battle,  or  to  cut  off  his   retreat  if  he  were 

io  already  defeated.  He  loses  his  feeling  of  innocence  ;  his 
mind  is  at  variance  with  itself;  the  old  divinity  no  longer 
presides  there  \  but  wild  Desires  and  wild  Repentance 
alternately  oppress  him.  Ere  long,  too,  he  has  commit- 
ted himself  before  the  world  ;  his  character  for  sobriety, 

J5  dear  to  a  Scottish  peasant  as  few  corrupted  worldlings  can 
even  conceive,  is  destroyed  in  the  eyes  of  men  ;  and  his 
only  refuge  consists  in  trying  to  disbelieve  his  guiltiness, 
and  is  but  a  refuge  of  lies.  The  blackest  desperation 
now  gathers  over  him,  broken  only  by  red  lightnings  of 

20  remorse.  The  whole  fabric  of  his  life  is  blasted  asun- 
der; for  now  not  only  his  character,  but  his  personal 
liberty,  is  to  be  lost ;  men  and  Fortune  are  leagued  for 
his  hurt;  "hungry  Ruin  has  him  in  the  wind."  He 
sees   no   escape   but   the   saddest  of  all :    exiled   from 

25  his  loved  country,  to  a  country  in  every  sense  inhospi- 
table and  abhorrent  to  him.  While  the  "gloomy 
night  is  gathering  fast,"  in  mental  storm  and  solitude, 
as  well  as  in  physical,  he  sings  his  wild  farewell  to 
Scotland  : 


Essay  on  Burns  107 

Farewell,  my  friends  ;   farewell,  my  foes ! 
My  peace  with  these,  my  love  with  those : 
The  bursting  tears  my  heart  declare  ; 
Adieu,  my  native  banks  of  Ayr  ! 

Light  breaks  suddenly  in  on  him  in  floods ;  but  still  a  5 
false  transitory  light,  and  no  real  sunshine.    He  is  invited 
to  Edinburgh  ;  hastens  thither  with  anticipating  heart ;  is 
welcomed  as  in  a  triumph,  and  with  universal  blandish- 
ment and  acclamation ;  whatever  is  wisest,  whatever  is 
greatest  or  loveliest  there,  gathers  round  him,  to  gaze  on  10 
his  face,  to  show  him  honour,  sympathy,  affection.    Burns's 
appearance  among  the  sages  and  nobles  of  Edinburgh 
must  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  singular  phenomena 
in  modern   Literature ;    almost  like  the  appearance  of 
some  Napoleon  among  the  crowned  sovereigns  of  mod- 15 
ern  Politics.     For  it  is  nowise  as  "  a  mockery  king,"  set 
there  by  favour,  transiently  and  for  a  purpose,  that  he  will 
let  himself  be  treated  ;  still  less  is  he  a  mad  Rienzi,  whose 
sudden  elevation  turns  his  too  weak  head  :  but  he  stands 
there  on  his  own  basis ;  cool,  unastonished,  holding  his  20 
equal  rank  from  Nature  herself;    putting  forth  no  claim 
which  there  is  not  strength  in  him,  as  well  as  about  him, 
to  vindicate.      Mr.  Lockhart  has  some  forcible  observa- 
tions on  this  point : 

"  It  needs  no  effort  of  imagination,"  says  he,  "  to  conceive  what  25 
the  sensations  of  an  isolated  set  of  scholars  (almost  all  either  clergy- 
men or  professors)  must  have  been  in  the  presence  of  this  big- 
boned,  black-browed,  brawny  stranger,  with  his  great  flashing  eyes, 
who,  having  forced  his  way  among  them  from  the  plough-tail  at  a 


108  Essay  on  Burns 

single  stride,  manifested  in  the  whole  strain  of  his  bearing  and  con- 
versation a  most  thorough  conviction,  that  in  the  society  of  the 
most  eminent  men  of  his  nation  he  was  exactly  where  he  was 
entitled  to  be  ;  hardly  deigned  to  flatter  them  by  exhibiting  even 
5  an  occasional  symptom  of  being  flattered  by  their  notice  ;  by  turns 
calmly  measured  himself  against  the  most  cultivated  understandings 
of  his  time  in  discussion  ;  overpowered  the  bon-mots  of  the  most 
celebrated  convivialists  by  broad  floods  of  merriment,  impregnated 
with  all  the  burning  life  of  genius  ;   astounded  bosoms  habitually 

10  enveloped  in  the  thrice-piled  folds  of  social  reserve,  by  compelling 
them  to  tremble,  —  nay,  to  tremble  visibly, — beneath  the  fearless 
touch  of  natural  pathos  ;  and  all  this  without  indicating  the  small- 
est willingness  to  be  ranked  among  those  professional  ministers  of 
excitement,  who  are  content  to  be  paid  in  money  and  smiles  for 

15  doing  what  the  spectators  and  auditors  would  be  ashamed  of  doing 
m  their  own  persons,  even  if  they  had  the  power  of  doing  it ;  and 
last,  and  probably  worst  of  all,  who  was  known  to  be  in  the  habit 
of  enlivening  societies  which  they  would  have  scorned  to  approach, 
still  more  frequently  than  their  own,  with  eloquence  no  less  mag- 

20  nificent  ;  with  wit,  in  all  likelihood  still  more  daring  ;  often  enough, 
as  the  superiors  whom  he  fronted  without  alarm  might  have  guessed 
from  the  beginning,  and  had  ere  long  no  occasion  to  guess,  with 
wit  pointed  at  themselves." 

tj  The  farther  we  remove  from  this  scene,  the  more  singu- 
£5  lar  will  it  seem  to  us  :  details  of  the  exterior  aspect  of  it 

are  already  full  of  interest.      Most  readers  recollect  Mr. 

Walker's  personal  interviews  with  Burns  as  among  the 

best  passages  of  his  Narrative  :  a  time  will  come  wher. 

this  reminiscence  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's,  slight  though  it  is, 
30  will  also  be  precious  : 

"  As  for  Burns,"  writes  Sir  Walter,  "  I  may  truly  say,  Virgilium 
vidi  tantum.    I  was  a  lad  of  fifteen  in  1 786-7,  when  he  came  first 


Essay  on  Burns  109 

to  Edinburgh,  but  had  sense  and  feeling  enough  to  be  much  inter- 
ested in  his  poetry,  and  would  have  given  the  world  to  know  him  : 
but  I  had  very  little  acquaintance  with  any  literary  people,  and  still 
less  with  the  gentry  of  the  west  country,  the  two  sets  that  he  most 
frequented.  Mr.  Thomas  Grierson  was  at  that  time  a  clerk  of  my  5 
father's.  He  knew  Burns,  and  promised  to  ask  him  to  his  lodgings 
to  dinner  ;  but  had  no  opportunity  to  keep  his  word  ;  otherwise  I 
might  have  seen  more  of  this  distinguished  man.  As  it  was,  I  saw 
him  one  day  at  the  late  venerable  Professor  Ferguson's,  where  there 
were  several  gentlemen  of  literary  reputation,  among  whom  I  remem-  10 
ber  the  celebrated  Mr.  Dugald  Stewart.  Of  course,  we  youngsters 
sat  silent,  looked  and  listened.  The  only  thing  I  remember  which 
was  remarkable  in  Burns's  manner,  was  the  effect  produced  upon 
him  by  a  print  of  Bunbury's,  representing  a  soldier  lying  dead  on 
the  snow,  his  dog  sitting  in  misery  on  one  side,  —  on  the  other,  his  15 
widow,  with  a  child  in  her  arms.     These  lines  were  written  beneath : 

"'  Cold  on  Canadian  hills,  or  Minden's  plain, 
Perhaps  that  mother  wept  her  soldier  slain  ; 
Bent  o'er  her  babe,  her  eye  dissolved  in  dew, 
The  big  drops  mingling  with  the  milk  he  drew,  20 

Gave  the  sad  presage  of  his  future  years, 
The  child  of  misery  baptized  in  tears.' 

"Burns  seemed  much  affected  by  the  print,  or  rather  by  the 
ideas  which  it  suggested  to  his  mind.  He  actually  shed  tears.  He 
asked  whose  the  lines  were  ;  and  it  chanced  that  nobody  but  my-  25 
self  remembered  that  they  occur  in  a  half-forgotten  poem  of  Lang- 
horne's  called  by  the  unpromising  title  of  'The  Justice  of  Peace.' 
I  whispered  my  information  to  a  friend  present ;  he  mentioned  it 
to  Burns,  who  rewarded  me  with  a  look  and  a  word,  which,  though 
of  mere  civility,  I  then  received  and  still  recollect  with  very  great  30 
pleasure. 

"  His  person  was  strong  and  robust ;  his  manners  rustic,  not 


no  Essay  on  Burns 

clownish  ;  a  sort  of  dignified  plainness  and  simplicity,  which  re- 
ceived part  of  its  effect  perhaps  from  one's  knowledge  of  his  extra- 
ordinary talents.  His  features  are  represented  in  Mr.  Nasmyth's 
picture  :  but  to  me  it  conveys  the  idea  that  they  are  diminished,  as 
5  if  seen  in  perspective.  I  think  his  countenance  was  more  massive 
than  it  looks  in  any  of  the  portraits.  I  should  have  taken  the  poet, 
had  I  not  known  what  he  was,  for  a  very  sagacious  country  farmer 
of  the  old  Scotch  school,  i.e.  none  of  your  modern  agriculturists  who 
keep  labourers  for  their  drudgery,  but  the  douce l  gudeman  2  who 

io  held  his  own  plough.  There  was  a  strong  expression  of  sense  and 
shrewdness  in  all  his  lineaments  ;  the  eye  alone,  I  think,  indicated 
the  poetical  character  and  temperament.  It  was  large,  and  of  a 
dark  cast,  which  glowed  (I  say  literally  glowed)  when  he  spoke 
with  feeling  or  interest.     I  never  saw  such  another  eye  in  a  human 

15  head,  though  I  have  seen  the  most  distinguished  men  of  my  time. 
His  conversation  expressed  perfect  self-confidence,  without  the 
slightest  presumption.  Among  the  men  who  were  the  most  learned 
of  their  time  and  country,  he  expressed  himself  with  perfect  firm- 
ness, but  without  the  least  intrusive  forwardness  ;  and  when  he 

20  differed  in  opinion,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  express  it  firmly,  yet  at 
the  same  time  with  modesty.  I  do  not  remember  any  part  of  his 
conversation  distinctly  enough  to  be  quoted  ;  nor  did  I  ever  see 
him  again,  except  in  the  street,  wThere  he  did  not  recognise  me,  as 
I  could  not  expect  he  should.     He  was  much  caressed  in  Edin- 

25  burgh  :  but  (considering  what  literary  emoluments  have  been  since 
his  day)  the  efforts  made  for  his  relief  were  extremely  trifling. 

"  I  remember,  on  this  occasion  I  mention,  I  thought  Burns's 
acquaintance  with  English  poetry  was  rather  limited  ;  and  also 
that,  having  twenty  times  the  abilities  of  Allan  Ramsay  and   of 

30  Ferguson,  he  talked  of  them  with  too  much  humility  as  his  models  : 
there  was  doubtless  national  predilection  in  his  estimate. 

"  This  is  all  I  can  tell  you  about  Burns.      I  have  only  to  add^ 

1  Sedate.  2  Man  of  the  house. 


Essay  on  Burns  1 1 1 

that  his  dress  corresponded  with  his  manner.  He  was  like  a  farmer 
dressed  in  his  best  to  dine  with  the  laird.  I  do  not  speak  in  maiam 
partem,  when  I  say,  I  never  saw  a  man  in  company  with  his  supe- 
riors in  station  or  information  more  perfectly  free,  from  either  the 
reality  or  the  affectation  of  embarrassment.  I  was  told,  but  did  not  5 
observe  it,  that  his  address  to  females  was  extremely  deferential,  and 
always  with  a  turn  either  to  the  pathetic  or  humorous,  which  en- 
gaged their  attention  particularly.  I  have  heard  the  late  Duchess 
of  Gordon  remark  this.  —  I  do  not  know  anything  I  can  add  to 
these  recollections  of  forty  years  since."  ic 

The  conduct  of  Burns  under  this  dazzlingblaze  of  favour ; 
the  calm,  unaffected,  manly  manner  in  which  he  not  only 
bore  it,  but  estimated  its  value,  has  justly  been  regarded 
as  the  best  proof  that  could  be  given  of  his  real  vigour 
and  integrity  of  mind.  A  little  natural  vanity,  some  15 
touches  of  hypocritical  modesty,  some  glimmerings  of 
affectation,  at  least  some  fear  of  being  thought  affected, 
we  could  have  pardoned  in  almost  any  man  ;  but  no  such 
indication  is  to  be  traced  here.  In  his  unexampled  situa- 
tion the  young  peasant  is  not  a  moment  perplexed  ;  so  20 
many  strange  lights  do  not  confuse  him,  do  not  lead  him 
astray.  Nevertheless,  we  cannot  but  perceive  that  this 
winter  did  him  great  and  lasting  injury.  A  somewhat 
clearer  knowledge  of  men's  affairs,  scarcely  of  their  char- 
acters, it  did  afford  him ;  but  a  sharper  feeling  of  For-  25 
tune's  unequal  arrangements  in  their  social  destiny  is 
also  left  with  him.  He  had  seen  the  gay  and  gorgeous 
arena,  in  which  the  powerful  are  born  to  play  their  parts ; 
nay,  had  himself  stood  in  the  midst  of  it ;  and  he  felt  more 
bitterly  than  ever,  that  here  he  was  but  a  looker-on,  and  3° 


112  Essay  on  Burns 

had  no  part  or  lot  in  that  splendid  game.  From  this 
time  a  jealous  indignant  fear  of  social  degradation  takes 
possession  of  him  ;  and  perverts,  so  far  as  aught  could 
pervert,  his  private  contentment,  and  his  feelings  towards 
5  his  richer  fellows.  It  was  clear  to  Burns  that  he  had 
talent  enough  to  make  a  fortune,  or  a  hundred  fortunes, 
could  he  but  have  rightly  willed  this  ;  it  was  clear  also  that 
he  willed  something  far  different,  and  therefore  could  not 
make  one.     Unhappy  it  was  that  he  had  not  power  to 

io  choose  the  one,  and  reject  the  other ;  but  must  halt  for- 
ever between  two  opinions,  two  objects ;  making  ham- 
pered advancement  towards  either.  But  so  it  is  with  many 
men  :  we  "  long  for  the  merchandise,  yet  would  fain  keep 
the  price ; "  and  so  stand  chaffering  with  Fate,  in  vexa- 

15  tious  altercation,  till  the  night  come,  and  our  fair  is 
over  ! 

The  Edinburgh  Learned  of  that  period  were  in  gen- 
eral more  noted  for  clearness  of  head  than  for  warmth 
of  heart :  with  the  exception  of  the  good  old  Blacklock, 

20  whose  help  was  too  ineffectual,  scarcely  one  among  them 
seems  to  have  looked  at  Burns  with  any  true  sympathy, 
or  indeed  much  otherwise  than  as  at  a  highly  curious 
thing.  By  the  great  also  he  is  treated  in  the  customary 
fashion ;  entertained  at  their  tables  and  dismissed  :  cer- 

25  tain  modica  of  pudding  and  praise  are,  from  time  to 
time,  gladly  exchanged  for  the  fascination  of  his  pres- 
ence ;  which  exchange  once  effected,  the  bargain  is 
finished,  and  each  party  goes  his  several  way.  At  the 
end  of  this  strange  season,  Burns  gloomily  sums  up  his 


Essay  on  Burns  113 

gains  and  losses,  and  meditates  on  the  chaotic  future. 
In  money  he  is  somewhat  richer ;  in  fame  and  the  show 
of  happiness,  infinitely  richer ;  but  in  the  substance  of  it, 
as  poor  as  ever.  Nay,  poorer;  for  his  heart  is  now  mad- 
dened still  more  with  the  fever  of  worldly  Ambition  ;  and  5 
through  long  years  the  disease  will  rack  him  with  un- 
profitable sufferings,  and  weaken  his  strength  for  all  true 
and  nobler  aims. 

What  Burns  was  next  to  do  or  to  avoid ;  how  a  man 
so  circumstanced  was  now  to  guide  himself  towards  his  10 
true  advantage,  might  at  this  point  of  time  have  been  a 
question  for  the  wisest.  It  was  a  question  too,  which 
apparently  he  was  left  altogether  to  answer  for  himself: 
of  his  learned  or  rich  patrons  it  had  not  struck  any  indi- 
vidual to  turn  a  thought  on  this  so  trivial  matter.  With- 15 
out  claiming  for  Burns  the  praise  of  perfect  sagacity, 
we  must  say,  that  his  Excise  and  Farm  scheme  does  not 
seem  to  us  a  very  unreasonable  one ;  that  we  should  be 
at  a  loss,  even  now,  to  suggest  one  decidedly  better. 
Certain  of  his  admirers  have  felt  scandalized  at  his  ever  20 
resolving  to  gauge;  and  would  have  had  him  lie  at  the 
pool,  till  the  spirit  of  Patronage  stirred  the  waters,  that 
iso,  with  one  friendly  plunge,  all  his  sorrows  might  be 
healed.  Unwise  counsellors  !  They  know  not  the  man- 
ner of  this  spirit ;  and  how,  in  the  lap  of  most  golden  25 
dreams,  a  man  might  have  happiness,  were  it  not  that 
in  the  interim  he  must  die  of  hunger  !  It  reflects  credit 
on  the  manliness  and  sound  sense  of  Burns,  that  he  felt 
so  early  on  what  ground  he  was  standing ;  and  preferred 

CARLYLE'S   ESSAY  ON   BURNS — 8 


ii4  Essay  on  Burns 

self-help,  on  the  humblest  scale,  to  dependence  and  in- 
action, though  with  hope  of  far  more  splendid  possibili- 
ties. But  even  these  possibilities  were  not  rejected  in 
his  scheme :  he  might  expect,  if  it  chanced  that  he  had 
5  any  friend,  to  rise,  in  no  long  period,  into  something  even 
like  opulence  and  leisure  ;  while  again,  if  it  chanced  that 
he  had  no  friend,  he  could  still  live  in  security ;  and  for 
the  rest,  he  "  did  not  intend  to  borrow  honour  from  any 
profession."     We  reckon  that  his  plan  was  honest  and 

io  well-calculated :  all  turned  on  the  execution  of  it. 
Doubtless  it  failed;  yet  not,  we  believe,  from  any  vice 
inherent  in  itself.  Nay,  after  all,  it  was  no  failure  of 
external  means,  but  of  internal,  that  overtook  Burns. 
His  was  no  bankruptcy  of  the  purse,  but  of  the  soul ;  to 

15  his  last  day,  he  owed  no  man  anything. 

Meanwhile  he  begins  well :  with  two  good  and  wise 
actions.  His  donation  to  his  mother,  munificent  from  a 
man  whose  income  had  lately  been  seven  pounds  a-year, 
was  worthy  of  him,  and  not  more  than  worthy.     Gen 

20  erous  also,  and  worthy  of  him,  was  the  treatment  of  the 
woman  whose  life's  welfare  now  depended  on  his  pleasure. 
A  friendly  observer  might  have  hoped  serene  days  for 
him:  his  mind  is  on  the  true  road  to  peace  with  itself: 
what  clearness  he  still  wants  will  be  given  as  he  proceeds  ; 

25  for  the  best  teacher  of  duties,  that  still  lie  dim  to  us,  is 
the  Practice  of  those  we  see  and  have  at  hand.  Had  the 
"patrons  of  genius,"  who  could  give  him  nothing,  but 
taken  nothing  from  him,  at  least  nothing  more  !  The 
wounds  of  his  heart  would  have  healed,  vulgar  ambition 


Essay  on  Burns  1 1 5 

would  have  died  away.  Toil  and  Frugality  would  have 
been  welcome,  since  Virtue  dwelt  with  them  ;  and  Poetry 
would  have  shone  through  them  as  of  old  :  and  in  her 
clear  ethereal  light,  which  was  his  own  by  birthright,  he 
might  have  looked  down  on  his  earthly  destiny,  and  all  5 
its  obstructions,  not  with  patience  only,  but  with  love. 

But  the  patrons  of  genius  would  not  have  it  so. 
Picturesque  tourists,1  all  manner  of  fashionable  danglers 
after  literature,  and,  far  worse,  all  manner  of  convivial 
Maecenases,  hovered  round  him  in  his  retreat ;  and  his  ic 
good  as  well  as  his  weak  qualities  secured  them  influence 
over  him.  He  was  flattered  by  their  notice ;  and  his 
warm  social  nature  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  shake 
them  off,  and  hold  on  his  way  apart  from  them.     These 

1  There  is  one  little  sketch  by  certain  "English  gentlemen  "of  15 
this  class,  which,  though  adopted  in  Currie's  Narrative,  and  since 
then  repeated  in  most  others,  we  have  all  along  felt  an  invincible 
disposition  to  regard  as  imaginary :  "  On  a  rock  that  projected  into 
the  stream,  they  saw  a  man  employed  in  angling,  of  a  singular  ap- 
pearance.    He  had  a  cap  made  of  fox-skin   on  his  head,  a  loose  20 
greatcoat    fixed   round    him  by  a  belt,   from  which  depended  an 
enormous  Highland  broad-sword.    It  was  Burns."     Now,  we  rather 
think,  it  was  not  Burns.     For,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fox-skin  cap, 
the  loose  and  quite  Hibernian  watchcoat  with  the  belt,  what  are 
we  to  make  of  this  "  enormous  Highland  broad-sword  "  depending  25 
from  him?     More  especially,  as  there  is  no  word  of  parish  con- 
stables on  the  outlook  to  see  whether,  as  Dennis  phrases  it,  he  had 
an  eye  to  his  own  midriff  or  that  of  the  public !     Burns,  of  all  men, 
had  the  least  need,  and  the  least  tendency,  to  seek  for  distinction, 
either  in  his  own  eyes,  or   those   of  others,  by  such  poor  mum-  30 
meries.  — ■  (Carlyle's  note.*) 


1 1 6  Essay  on  Burns 

men,  as  we  believe,  were  proximately  the  means  of  his 
ruin.  Not  that  they  meant  him  any  ill ;  they  only  meant 
themselves  a  little  good  ;  if  he  suffered  harm,  let  him  look 
to  it !  But  they  wasted  his  precious  time  and  his  pre- 
5  cious  talent ;  they  disturbed  his  composure,  broke  down 
his  returning  habits  of  temperance  and  assiduous  con- 
tented exertion.  Their  pampering  was  baneful  to  him ; 
their  cruelty,  which  soon  followed,  was  equally  baneful. 
The  old  grudge  against  Fortune's  inequality  awoke  with 

io  new  bitterness  in  their  neighbourhood ;  and  Burns  had 
no  retreat  but  to  "  the  Rock  of  Independence,"  which 
is  but  an  air-castle  after  all,  that  looks  well  at  a  distance, 
but  will  screen  no  one  from  real  wind  and  wet.  Flushed 
with  irregular  excitement,  exasperated  alternately  by  con- 

15  tempt  of  others,  and  contempt  of  himself,  Burns  was  no 
longer  regaining  his  peace  of  mind,  but  fast  losing  it  for- 
ever. There  was  a  hollowness  at  the  heart  of  his  life, 
for  his  conscience  did  not  now  approve  what  he  was 
doing. 

20  Amid  the  vapours  of  unwise  enjoyment,  of  bootless  re- 
morse, and  angry  discontent  with  Fate,  his  true  loadstar, 
a  life  of  Poetry,  with  Poverty,  nay  with  Famine  if  it  must 
be  so,  was  too  often  altogether  hidden  from  his  eyes.  And 
yet  he  sailed  a  sea,  where  without  some  such  loadstar  there 

25  was  no  right  steering.  Meteors  of  French  Politics  rise 
before  him,  but  these  were  not  his  stars.  An  accident 
this,  which  hastened,  but  did  not  originate,  his  worst  dis- 
tresses. In  the  mad  contentions  of  that  time,  he  comes 
in  collision  with  certain  official  Superiors ;  is  wounded  by 


Essay  on  Burns  117 

them  ;  cruelly  lacerated,  we  should  say,  could  a  dead  me- 
chanical implement,  in  any  case,  be  called  cruel :  and 
shrinks,  in  indignant  pain,  into  deeper  self-seclusion,  into 
gloomier  moodiness  than  ever.  His  life  has  now  lost  its 
unity :  it  is  a  life  of  fragments ;  led  with  little  aim,  be-  5 
yond  the  melancholy  one  of  securing  its  own  continu- 
ance,—  in  fits  of  wild  false  joy  when  such  offered,  and  ot 
black  despondency  when  they  passed  away.  His  charac- 
ter before  the  world  begins  to  suffer  :  calumny  is  busy  with 
him ;  for  a  miserable  man  makes  more  enemies  than  ia 
friends.  Some  faults  he  has  fallen  into,  and  a  thousand 
misfortunes ;  but  deep  criminality  is  what  he  stands  ac- 
cused of,  and  they  that  are  not  without  sin  cast  the  first 
stone  at  him  !  For  is  he  not  a  well-wisher  to  the  French 
Revolution,  a  Jacobin,  and  therefore  in  that  one  act  guilty  15 
of  all?  These  accusations,  political  and  moral,  it  has  since 
appeared,  were  false  enough  :  but  the  world  hesitated  little 
to  credit  them.  Nay,  his  convivial  Maecenases  themselves 
were  not  the  last  to  do  it.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that, 
in  his  later  years,  the  Dumfries  Aristocracy  had  partly  with-  20 
drawn  themselves  from  Burns,  as  from  a  tainted  person,  no 
longer  worthy  of  their  acquaintance.  That  painful  class, 
stationed,  in  all  provincial  cities,  behind  the  outmost 
breastwork  of  Gentility,  there  to  stand  siege  and  do  battle 
against  the  intrusions  of  Grocerdom  and  Grazierdom,  25 
had  actually  seen  dishonour  in  the  society  of  Burns,  and 
branded  him  with  their  veto ;  had,  as  we  vulgarly  say, 
cut  him  !  We  find  one  passage  in  this  Work  of  Mr.  Lock- 
hart's,  which  will  not  out  of  our  thoughts : 


1 1 8  Essay  on  Burns 

"  A  gentleman  of  that  county,  whose  name  I  have  already  more 
than  once  had  occasion  to  refer  to,  has  often  told  me  that  he  was 
seldom  more  grieved,  than  when  riding  into  Dumfries  one  tine 
summer  evening  about  this  time  to  attend  a  county  ball,  he  saw 
5  Burns  walking  alone,  on  the  shady  side  of  the  principal  street  of 
the  town,  while  the  opposite  side  was  gay  with  successive  groups  of 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  all  drawn  together  for  the  festivities  of  the 
night,  not  one  of  whom  appeared  willing  to  recognize  him.  The 
horseman  dismounted,  and  joined  Burns,  who  on  his  proposing  to 
10  cross  the  street  said :  ■  Nay,  nay,  my  young  friend,  that's  all  over 
now;'  and  quoted,  after  a  pause,  some  verses  of  Lady  Grizzel  Bail- 
lie's  pathetic  ballad : 

"  ■  His  bonnet  stood  ance  fu'  fair  on  his  brow, 
His  auld  ane  look'd  better  than  mony  ane's  new; 
je  But  now  he  lets  't  wearony  way  it  will  hing, 

And  casts  himsell  dowie1  upon  the  corn-bing.2 

" '  O,  were  we  young  as  we  ance  hae  been, 

We  sud  hae  been  galloping  down  on  yon  green, 
And  linking3  it  ower  the  lily-white  lea! 
20  And  werena  my  heart  light,  I  wad  die? 

It  was  little  in  Burns's  character  to  let  his  feelings  on  certain  sub- 
jects escape  in  this  fashion.  He,  immediately  after  reciting  these 
verses,  assumed  the  sprightliness  of  his  most  pleasing  manner;  and 
taking  his  young  friend  home  with  him,  entertained  him  very  agree- 
25  ably  till  the  hour  of  the  ball  arrived." 

Alas  !  when  we  think  that  Burns  now  sleeps  "  where 
bitter  indignation  can  no  longer  lacerate  his  heart,"4  and 

1  Mournfully.  2  Corn-heap.  3  Trip  or  dance. 

4  Ubi  sceva  indignatio  cor  ulterius  lacerare  nequit.        Swift's 
Epitaph.  —  (  Carlyle's  note.) 


Essay  on  Bums  119 

that  most  of  those  fair  dames  and  frizzled  gentlemen  al- 
ready lie  at  his  side,  where  the  breastwork  of  gentility  is 
quite  thrown  down,  —  who  would  not  sigh  over  the  thin 
delusions  and  foolish  toys  that  divide  heart  from  heart, 
and  make  man  unmerciful  to  his  brother  !  5 

It  was  not  now  to  be  hoped  that  the  genius  of  Burns 
would  ever  reach  maturity,  or  accomplish  aught  worthy 
of  itself.  His  spirit  was  jarred  in  its  melody ;  not  the 
soft  breath  of  natural  feeling,  but  the  rude  hand  of  Fate, 
was  now  sweeping  over  the  strings.  And  yet  what  10 
harmony  was  in  him,  what  music  even  in  his  discords  ! 
How  the  wild  tones  had  a  charm  for  the  simplest  and 
the  wisest ;  and  all  men  felt  and  knew  that  here  also  was 
one  of  the  Gifted  !  "  If  he  entered  an  inn  at  midnight, 
after  all  the  inmates  were  in  bed,  the  news  of  his  arrival  15 
circulated  from  the  cellar  to  the  garret ;  and  ere  ten 
minutes  had  elapsed,  the  landlord  and  all  his  guests  were 
assembled  !  "  Some  brief,  pure  moments  of  poetic  life 
were  yet  appointed  him,  in  the  composition  of  his  Songs. 
We  can  understand  how  he  grasped  at  this  employ- 20 
ment ;  and  how,  too,  he  spurned  all  other  reward  for  it 
but  what  the  labour  itself  brought  him.  For  the  soul  of 
Burns,  though  scathed  and  marred,  was  yet  living  in  its 
full  moral  strength,  though  sharply  conscious  of  its  errors 
and  abasement :  and  here,  in  his  destitution  and  degra-  25 
dation,  was  one  act  of  seeming  nobleness  and  self  devot- 
edness  left  even  for  him  to  perform.  He  felt  too,  that 
with  all  the  "  thoughtless  follies  "  that  had  "  laid  him  low," 
the  world  was  unjust  and  cruel  to  him  \  and  he  silently 


120  Essay  on  Burns 

appealed  to  another  and  calmer  time.  Not  as  a  hired 
soldier,  but  as  a  patriot,  would  he  strive  for  the  glory  of 
his  country :  so  he  cast  from  him  the  poor  sixpence 
a-day,  and  served  zealously  as  a  volunteer.  Let  us  not 
5  grudge  him  this  last  luxury  of  his  existence ;  let  him  not 
have  appealed  to  us  in  vain  !  The"  money  was  not  neces- 
sary to  him ;  he  struggled  through  without  it :  long 
since,  these  guineas  would  have  been  gone,  and  now  the 
high-mindedness  of  refusing  them  will  plead  for  him  in 

10  all  hearts  forever. 

We  are  here  arrived  at  the  crisis  of  Burns's  life ;  for 
matters  had  now  taken  such  a  shape  with  him  as  could 
not  long  continue.  If  improvement  was  not  to  be  looked 
for,  Nature  could  only  for  a  limited  time  maintain  this 

15  dark  and  maddening  warfare  against  the  world  and  itself. 
.We  are  not  medically  informed  whether  any  continu- 
ance of  years  was,  at  this  period,  probable  for  Burns ; 
whether  his  death  is  to  be  looked  on  as  in  some  sense 
an  accidental  event,  or  only  as  the  natural  consequence 

20  of  the  long  series  of  events  that  had  preceded.  The 
latter  seems  to  be  the  likelier  opinion ;  and  yet  it  is  by 
no  means  a  certain  one.  At  all  events,  as  we  have  said, 
some  change  could  not  be  very  distant.  Three  gates  of 
deliverance,  it  seems  to  us,  were  open  for  Burns  :  clear 

25  poetical  activity;  madness;  or  de^ath.  The  first,  with 
longer  life,  was  still  possible,  though  not  probable ;  for 
physical  causes  were  beginning  to  be  concerned  in  it : 
and  yet  Burns  had  an  iron  resolution ;  could  he  but 
have  seen  and  felt,  that  not  only  his  highest  glory,  but 


Essay  on  Burns  121 

his  first  duty,  and  the  true  medicine  for  all  his  woes, 
lay  here.  The  second  was  still  less  probable ;  for  his 
mind  was  ever  among  the  clearest  and  firmest.  So  the 
milder  third  gate  was  opened  for  him  :  and  he  passed,  not 
softly  yet  speedily,  into  that  still  country,  where  the  hail-  5 
storms  and  fire-showers  do  not  reach,  and  the  heaviest- 
laden  wayfarer  at  length  lays  down  his  load  ! 

Contemplating  this  sad  end  of  Burns,  and  how  he  sank 
unaided  by  any  real  help,  uncheered  by  any  wise  sym- 
pathy, generous  minds  have  sometimes  figured  to  them- 10 
selves,  with  a  reproachful  sorrow,  that  much  might  have 
been  done  for  him  ;  that  by  counsel,  true  affection  and 
friendly  ministrations,  he  might  have  been  saved  to  him- 
self and  the  world.  We  question  whether  there  is  not 
more  tenderness  of  heart  than  soundness  of  judgment  in  15 
these  suggestions.  It  seems  dubious  to  us  whether  the 
richest,  wisest,  most  benevolent  individual  could  have 
lent  Burns  any  effectual  help.  Counsel,  which  seldom 
profits  any  one,  he  did  not  need ;  in  his  understanding, 
he  knew  the  right  from  the  wrong,  as  well  perhaps  as  any  20 
man  ever  did ;  but  the  persuasion,  which  would  have 
availed  him,  lies  not  so  much  in  the  head  as  in  the  heart, 
where  no  argument  or  expostulation  could  have  assisted 
much  to  implant  it.  As  to  money  again,  we  do  not  be- 
lieve that  this  was  his  essential  want ;  or  well  see  how  any  25 
private  man  could,  even  presupposing  Burns's  consent, 
have  bestowed  on  him  an  independent  fortune,  with  much 
prospect  of  decisive  advantage.     It  is  a  mortifying  truth, 


122  Essay  on  Burns 

that  two  men,  in  any  rank  of  society,  could  hardly  be 
found  virtuous  enough  to  give  money,  and  to  take  it  as  a 
necessary  gift,  without  injury  to  the  moral  entireness  of 
one  or  both.  But  so  stands  the  fact :  Friendship,  in  the 
5  old  heroic  sense  of  that  term,  no  longer  exists  ;  except  in 
the  cases  of  kindred  or  other  legal  affinity,  it  is  in  reality 
no  longer  expected,  or  recognized  as  a  virtue  among  men. 
A  close  observer  of  manners  has  pronounced  "  Patron- 
age," that  is,  pecuniary  or  other  economic  furtherance, 

io to  be  "twice  cursed";  cursing  him  that  gives,  and  him 
that  takes  !  And  thus,  in  regard  to  outward  matters  also, 
it  has  become  the  rule,  as  in  regard  to  inward  it  always 
was  and  must  be  the  rule,  that  no  one  shall  look  for 
effectual  help  to  another ;  but  that  each  shall  rest  con- 

15  tented  with  what  help  he  can  afford  himself.  Such,  we 
say,  is  the  principle  of  modern  Honour ;  naturally  enough 
growing  out  of  that  sentiment  of  Pride,  which  we  inculcate 
and  encourage  as  the  basis  of  our  whole  social  morality. 
Many  a'poet  has  been  poorer  than  Burns;  but  no  one 

20  was  ever  prouder  :  we  may  question  whether,  without  great 

precautions,  even  a  pension  from  Royalty  would  not  have 

galled  and  encumbered,  more  than  actually  assisted  him. 

Still  less,  therefore,  are  we  disposed  to  join  with  another 

class  of  Burns's  admirers,  who  accuse  the  higher  ranks 

25  among  us  of  having  ruined  Burns  by  their  selfish  neglect 
of  him.  We  have  already  stated  our  doubts  whether  di- 
rect pecuniary  help,  had  it  been  offered,  would  have  been 
accepted,  or  could  have  proved  very  effectual.  We  shall 
readily  admit,  however,  that  much  was  to  be  done  for 


Essay  on  Burns  123 

Burns ;  that  many  a  poisoned  arrow  might  have  been 
warded  from  his  bosom  ;  many  an  entanglement  in  his 
path  cut  asunder  by  the  hand  of  the  powerful ;  and  light 
and  heat,  shed  on  him  from  high  places,  would  have 
made  his  humble  atmosphere  more  genial ;  and  the  soft-  5 
est  heart  then  breathing  might  have  lived  and  died  with 
some  fewer  pangs.  Nay,  we  shall  grant  farther,  and  for 
Burns  it  is  granting  much,  that,  with  all  his  pride,  he 
would  have  thanked,  even  with  exaggerated  gratitude,  any 
one  who  had  cordially  befriended  him  :  patronage,  unless  ic 
once  cursed,  needed  not  to  have  been  twice  so.  At  all 
events,  the  poor  promotion  he  desired  in  his  calling  might 
have  been  granted :  it  was  his  own  scheme,  therefore 
likelier  than  any  other  to  be  of  service.  All  this  it 
might  have  been  a  luxury,  nay,  it  was  a  duty,  for  our  15 
nobility  to  have  done.  No  part  of  all  this,  however,  did 
any  of  them  do ;  or  apparently  attempt,  or  wish  to  do : 
so  much  is  granted  against  them.  But  what  then  is  the 
amount  of  their  blame  ?  Simply  that  they  were  men  of 
the  world,  and  walked  by  the  principles  of  such  men ;  20 
that  they  treated  Burns,  as  other  nobles  and  other  com- 
moners had  done  other  poets ;  as  the  English  did  Shake- 
speare ;  as  King  Charles  and  his  Cavaliers  did  Butler,  as 
King  Philip  and  his  Grandees  did  Cervantes.  Do  men 
gather  grapes  of  thorns  ;  or  shall  we  cut  down  our  thorns  25 
for  yielding  only  a.  fence  and  haws  ?  How,  indeed,  could  the 
"  nobility  and  gentry  of  his  native  land  "  hold  out  any  help 
to  this"  Scottish  Bard,  proud  of  his  name  and  country  "  ? 
Were  the  nobility  and  gentry  so  much  as  able  rightly  to 


124  Essay  on  Burns 

help  themselves  ?  Had  they  not  their  game  to  preserve  5 
their  borough  interests  to  strengthen  ;  dinners,  therefore, 
of  various  kinds  to  eat  and  give  ?  Were  their  means  more 
than  adequate  to  all  this  business,  or  less  than  adequate  ? 

5  Less  than  adequate,  in  general  ;  few  of  them  in  reality 
were  richer  than  Burns ;  many  of  them  were  poorer ;  for 
sometimes  they  had  to  wring  their  supplies,  as  with  thumb- 
screws, from  the  hard  hand ;  and,  in  their  need  of  guineas, 
to  forget  their  duty  of  mercy ;  which  Bums  was  never  re- 

10  duced  to  do.  Let  us  pity  and  forgive  them.  The  game 
they  preserved  and  shot,  the  dinners  they  ate  and  gave, 
the  borough  interests  they  strengthened,  the  little  Babylons 
they  severally  builded  by  the  glory  of  their  might,  are  all 
melted  or  melting  back  into  the  primeval  Chaos,  as  man's 

15  merely  selfish  endeavours  are  fated  to  do  :  and  here  was 
an  action,  extending,  in  virtue  of  its  worldly  influence,  we 
may  say,  through  all  time ;  in  virtue  of  its  moral  nature, 
beyond  all  time,  being  immortal  as  the  Spirit  of  Goodness 
itself;  this  action  was  offered  them  to  do,  and  light  was 

20 not  given  them  to  do  it.'  Let  us  pity  and  forgive  theim 
But  better  than  pity,  let  us  go  and  do  otherwise.  Human 
suffering  did  not  end  with  the  life  of  Burns;  neither 
was  the  solemn  mandate,  "  Love  one  another,  bear  one 
another's  burdens,"  given  to  the  rich  only,  but  to  all  men. 

25  True,  we  shall  find  no  Burns  to  relieve,  to  assuage  by  our 
aid  or  our  pity ;  but  celestial  natures,  groaning  under  the 
fardels  of  a  weary  life,  we  shall  still  find  ;  and  that  wretch- 
edness which  Fate  has  rendered  voiceless  and-  tuneless  is 
not  the  least  wretched,  but  the  most. 


Essay  on  Burns  125 

Still,  we  do  not  think  that  the  blame  of  Burns's  fail- 
are  lies  chiefly  with  the  world.     The  world,  it  seems  to 
us,  treated  him  with  more  rather  than  with  less  kindness 
than  it  usually  shows  to  such  men.     It  has  ever,  we  fear, 
shown  but  small   favour   to  its  Teachers :  hunger   and  5 
nakedness,  perils  and  revilings,  the  prison,  the  cross,  the 
poison-chalice  have,  in  most  times  and  countries,  been 
the  market-price  it  has  offered  for  Wisdom,  the  welcome 
with  which  it  has  greeted  those  who  have  come  to  en- 
lighten  and  purify  it.     Homer  and   Socrates,  and   the  10 
Christian  Apostles,  belong  to  old  days ;  but  the  world's 
Martyrology   was   not    completea    with    these,      Roger 
Bacon  and  Galileo  languish  in  priestly  dungeon ;  Tasso 
pines  in  the  cell  of  a  madhouse ;  Camoens  dies  begging 
on  the  streets  of  Lisbon.     So  neglected,  so  "  persecuted  15 
they  the  Prophets,"  not  in  Judea  only,  but  in  all  places 
where  men  have  been.     We  reckon  that  every  poet  of  J 
Burns's  order  is,  or  should  be,  a  prophet  and  teacher  to    , 
his  age ;  that  he  has  no  right  to  expect  great  kindness    ' 
from  it,  but  rather  is  bound  to  do  it  great  kindness;  that 20 
Burns,  in  particular,  experienced  fully  the  usual  propor- 
tion of  the  world's  goodness ;  and  that  the  blame  of  his 
failure,  as  we  have  said,  lies  not  chiefly  with  the  world. 

Where,  then,  does  it  lie?  We  are  forced  to  answer: 
With  himself;  it  is  his  inward,  not  his  Outward,  misfor-25 
tunes  that  bring  him  to  the  dust.  Seldom,  indeed,  is  it 
otherwise ;  seldom  is  a  life  morally  wrecked  but  the 
grand  cause  lies  in  some  internal  mal-arrangement,  some 
want  less  of  good  fortune  than  of  good  guidance.    Nature 


126  Essay  on  Burns 

fashions  no  creature  without  implanting  in  it  the  strength 
needful  for  its  action  and  duration  ;  least  of  all  does  she 
so  neglect  her  masterpiece  and  darling,  the  poetic  soul. 
Neither  can  we  believe  that  it  is  in  the  power  of  any  ex- 
5  fernal  circumstances  utterly  to  ruin  the  mind  of  a  man  ; 
nay,  if  proper  wisdom  be  given  him,  even  so  much  as  to 
affect  its  essential  health  and  beauty.  The  sternest  sum- 
total  of  all  worldly  misfortunes  is  Death ;  nothing  more 
can  lie  in  the  cup  of  human  woe :  yet  many  men,  in  all 

io  ages,  have  triumphed  over  Death,  and  led  it  captive ; 
converting  its  physical  victory  into  a  moral  victory  for 
themselves,  into  a  seal  and  immortal  consecration  for  all 
that  their  past  life  had  achieved.  What  has  been  done, 
may  be  done  again  :  nay,  it  is  but  the  degree  and  not  the 

15  kind  of  such  heroism  that  differs  in  different  seasons  ;  for 
without  some  portion  of  this  spirit,  not  of  boisterous  dar- 
ing, but  of  silent  fearlessness,  of  Self-denial  in  all  its  forms, 
no  good  man,  in  any  scene  or  time,  has  ever  attained  to 
be  good. 

20  We  have  already  stated  the  error  of  Burns;  and 
mourned  over  it,  rather  than  blamed  it.  It  was  the  want 
of  unity  in  his  purposes,  of  consistency  in  his  aims ;  the 
hapless  attempt  to  mingle  in  friendly  union  the  common 
spirit  of  the  world  with  the  spirit  of  poetry,  which  is  of  a 

'25  far  different  and  altogether  irreconcilable  nature.  Burns 
was  nothing  wholly,  and  Burns  could  be  nothing,  no  man 
formed  as  he  was  can  be  anything,  by  halves.  The  heart, 
not  of  a  mere  hot-blooded,  popular  Versemonger,  or 
poetical  Restaurateur,  but  of  a  true   Poet  and   Singer, 


Essay  on  Burns  127 

worthy  of  the  old  religious  heroic  times,  had  been  given 
him  :  and  he  fell  in  an  age,  not  of  heroism  and  religion, 
but  of  scepticism,  selfishness  and  triviality,  when  true  No- 
bleness was  little  understood,  and  its  place  supplied  by  a 
hollow,  dissocial,  altogether  barren  and  unfruitful  prin-  5 
ciple  of  Pride.  The  influences  of  that  age,  his  open, 
kind,  susceptible  nature,  to  say  nothing  of  his  highly  un- 
toward situation,  made  it  more  than  usually  difficult  for 
him  to  cast  aside,  or  rightly  subordinate  ;  the  better  spirit 
that  was  within  him  ever  sternly  demanded  its  rights,  its  10 
supremacy  :  he  spent  his  life  in  endeavouring  to  reconcile 
these  two ;  and  lost  it,  as  he  must  lose  it,  without  recon- 
ciling them. 

Burns  was  born  poor ;  and  born  also  to  continue  poor, 
for  he  would  not  endeavour  to  be  otherwise  :  this  it  had  15 
been  well  could  he  have  once  for  all  admitted,  and  con- 
sidered as  finally  settled.  He  was  poor,  truly;  but  hun- 
dreds even  of  his  own  class  and  order  of  minds  have  been 
poorer,  yet  have  suffered  nothing  deadly  from  it :  nay, 
his  own  Father  had  a  far  sorer  battle  with  ungrateful  20 
destiny  than  his  was ;.  and  he  did  not  yield  to  it,  but  died 
courageously  warring,  and  to  all  moral  intents  prevailing, 
against  it.  True,  Burns  had  little  means,  had  even  little 
time  for  poetry,  his  only  real  pursuit  and  vocation ;  but 
so  much  the  more  precious  was  what  little  he  had.  In  25 
all  these  external  respects  his  case  was  hard;  but  very 
far  from  the  hardest.  Poverty,  incessant  drudgery  and 
much  worse  evils,  it  has  often  been  the  lot  of  Poets  and 
wise   men  to   strive   with,  and   their   glory  to  conquer. 


128  Essay  on  Burns 

Locke  was  banished  as  a  traitor ;  and  wrote  his  Essay  on 
the  Human  Understanding  sheltering  himself  in  a  Dutch 
garret.  Was  Milton  rich  or  at  his  ease  when  he  composed 
Paradise  Lost  ?     Not  only  low,  but  fallen  from  a  height ; 

5  not  only  poor,  but  impoverished ;  in  darkness  and  with 
dangers  compassed  round,  he  sang  his  immortal  song, 
and  found  fit  audience,  though  few.  Did  not  Cervantes 
finish  his  work,  a  maimed  soldier  and  in  prison  ?  Nay, 
was  not  the  Araucana,  which  Spain  acknowledges  as  its 

io  Epic,  written  without  even  the  aid  of  paper ;  on  scraps 
of  leather,  as  the  stout  fighter  and  voyager  snatched  any 
moment  from  that  wild  warfare  ? 

And  what,  then,  had  these  men,  which  Burns  wanted? 
Two  things  ;  both  which,  it  seems  to  us,  are  indispensable 

15  for  such  men.  They  had  a  true,  religious  principle  of 
morals ;  and  a  single,  not  a  double  aim  in  their  activity. 
They  were  not  self-seekers  and  self-worshippers ;  but 
seekers  and  worshippers  of  something  far  better  than  Self. 
Not  personal  enjoyment  was  their  object ;   but  a  high, 

20  heroic  idea  of  Religion,  of  Patriotism,  of  heavenly  Wis- 
dom, in  one  or  the  other  form,  ever  hovered  before 
them ;  in  which  cause  they  neither  shrank  from  suffering, 
or  called  on  the  earth  to  witness  it  as  something  wonder- 
ful ;  but  patiently  endured,  counting  it  blessedness  enough 

»5  so  to  spend  and  be  spent.  Thus  the  "  golden-calf  of  Self- 
love/  '  however  curiously  carved,  was  not  their  Deity ;  but 
the  invisible  Goodness,  which  alone  is  man's  reasonable 
service.  This  feeling  was  as  a  celestial  fountain,  whose 
streams  refreshed  into  gladness  and  beauty  all  the  prov- 


Essay  on  Burns  129 

inces  of  their  otherwise  too  desolate  existence.  In  a 
word,  they  willed  one  thing,  to  which  all  other  things 
were  subordinated  and  made  subservient;  and  there- 
fore they  accomplished  it.  The  wedge  will  rend 
rocks ;  but  its  edge  must  be  sharp  and  single :  if  it  be  5 
double,  the  wedge  is  bruised  in  pieces  and  will  rend 
nothing. 

Part  of  this  superiority  these  men  owed  to  their  age ; 
in  which  heroism  and  devotedness  were  still  practised,  or 
at  least  not  yet  disbelieved  in :  but  much  of  it  likewise  10 
they  owed  to  themselves.  With  Burns,  again,  it  was  dif- 
ferent. His  morality,  in  most  of  its  practical  points,  is 
that  of  a  mere  worldly  man ;  enjoyment,  in  a  finer  or 
coarser  shape,  is  the  only  thing  he  longs  and  strives  for. 
A  noble  instinct  sometimes  raises  him  above  this;  but  an  15 
instinct  only,  and  acting  only  for  moments.  He  has  no 
Religion;  in  the  shallow  age,  where  his  days  were  cast, 
Religion  was  not  discriminated  from  the  New  and  Old 
Light  forms  of  Religion  ;  and  was,  with  these,  becoming 
obsolete  in  the  minds  of  men.  His  heart,  indeed,  is  20 
alive  with  a  trembling  adoration,  but  there  is  no  temple 
in  his  understanding.  He  lives  in  darkness  and  in  the 
.shadow  of  doubt.  His  religion,  at  best,  is  an  anxious 
wish  ;  like  that  of  Rabelais,  "  a  great  Perhaps." 

He  loved  Poetry  warmly,  and  in  his  heart ;  could  he  25 
but  have  loved  it  purely,  and  with  his  whole  undivided 
heart,  it  had  been  well.     For  Poetry,  as  Burns  could 
have  followed  it,  is  but  another  form  of  Wisdom,  of  Reli- 
gion ;  is  itself  Wisdom  and  Religion.     But  this  also  was 

CARLYLE'S  ESSAY  ON   BURNS  —  9 


130  Essay  on  Burns 

denied  him.  His  poetry  is  a  stray  vagrant  gleam,  whicti 
will  not  be  extinguished  within  him,  yet  rises  not  to  be  the 
true  light  of  his  path,  but  is  often  a  wildfire  that  misleads 
him.  It  was  not  necessary  for  Burns  to  be  rich,  to  be, 
5  or  to  seem,  "  independent " ;  but  it  was  necessary  for 
him  to  be  at  one  with  his  own  heart ;  to  place  what  was 
highest  in  his  nature  highest  also  in  his  life ;  "to  seek 
within  himself  for  that  consistency  and  sequence,  which 
external  events  would  forever  refuse  him."    He  was  born 

10  a  poet ;  poetry  was  the  celestial  element  of  his  being, 
and  should  have  been  the  soul  of  his  whole  endeav- 
ours. Lifted  into  that  serene  ether,  whither  he  had 
wings  given  him  to  mount,  he  would  have  needed  no 
other  elevation:  poverty,  neglect,  and  all  evil,  save  the 

15  desecration  of  himself  and  his  Art,  were  a  small  matter 
to  him ;  the  pride  and  the  passions  of  the  world  lay  far 
beneath  his  feet ;  and  he  looked  down  alike  on  noble 
and  slave,  on  prince  and  beggar,  and  all  that  wore  the 
stamp   of  man,  with   clear   recognition,   with   brotherly 

*o  affection,  with  sympathy,  with  pity.     Nay,  we  question 

;  whether  for  his  culture  as  a  Poet  poverty  and  much  suf- 
fering for  a  season  were  not  absolutely  advantageous. 
Great  men,  in  looking  back  over  their  lives,  have  testified 
to  that  effect.     "  I  would  not  for  much,"  says  Jean  Paul, 

25  "  that  I  had  been  born  richer."  And  yet  Paul's  birth  was 
poor  enough ;  for,  in  another  place,  he  adds :  "  The 
prisoner's  allowance  is  bread  and  water ;  and  I  had  often 
only  the  latter." .  But  the  gold  that  is  refined  in  the  hot- 
test furnace  comes  out  the  purest ;  or,  as  he  has  himself 


Essay  on  Burns  x3r 

expressed  it,  u  the  canary-bird  sings  sweeter  the  longer  it 
has  been  trained  in  a  darkened  cage." 

A  man  like  Burns  might  have  divided  his  hours  be- 
tween poetry  and  virtuous  industry ;  industry  which  all 
true  feeling  sanctions,  nay,  prescribes,  and  which  has  as 
beauty,  for  that  cause,  beyond  the  pomp  of  thrones  :  but 
to  divide  his  hours  between  poetry  and  rich  men's  ban- 
quets was  an  ill-starred  and  inauspicious  attempt.     How 
could  he  be  at  ease  at  such  banquets?     What  had  he  to 
do  there,  mingling  his  music  with  the  coarse  roar  of  alto- 10 
gether  earthly  voices ;    brightening  the  thick  smoke  of 
intoxication  with  fire  lent  him  from  heaven?     Was  it  his 
aim  to  enjoy  life?     To-morrow  he  must  go  drudge  as  an 
Exciseman  !     We  wonder  not  that  Burns  became  moody, 
indignant,  and  at  times  an  offender  against  certain  rules  15 
of  society  ;  but  rather  that  he  did  not  grow  utterly  frantic, 
and  run  amuck  against  them  all.     How  could  a  man,  so 
falsely  placed,  by  his  own  or  others'  fault,  ever  know  con- 
tentment or  peaceable  diligence  for  an  hour?     What  he 
did,  under  such  perverse  guidance,  and  what  he  forbore  20 
to   do,  alike   fill   us   with   astonishment   at   the   natural 
strength  and  worth  of  his  character. 

Doubtless  there  was  a  remedy  for  this  perverseness ; 
but  not  in  others ;  only  in  himself;  least  of  all  in  simple 
increase  of  wealth  and  worldly  "respectability."  We  25 
hope  we  have  now  heard  enough  about  the  efficacy  of 
wealth  for  poetry,  and  to  make  poets  happy.  Nay,  have 
we  not  seen  another  instance  of  it  in  these  very  days? 
Byron,  a  man  of  an  endowment  considerably  less  ethereal 


132  Essay  on  Burns 

than  that  of  Burns,  is  born  in  the  rank  not  of  a  Scottish 
ploughman,  but  of  an  English  peer :  the  highest  worldly 
honours,  the  fairest  worldly  career,  are  his  by  inheritance  ; 
the  richest  harvest  of  fame  he  soon  reaps,  in  another  prov- 
5  ince,  by  his  own  hand.  And  what  does  all  this  avail  him  ? 
Is  he  happy,  is  he  good,  is  he  true  ?  Alas,  he  has  a  poet's 
soul,  and  strives  towards  the  Infinite  and  the  Eternal ; 
and  soon  feels  that  all  this  is  but  mounting  to  the  house- 
top to  reach  the  stars  !     Like  Burns,  he  is  only  a  proud 

so  man  ;  might,  like  him,  have  "  purchased  a  pocket-copy  of 
Milton  to  study  the  character  of  Satan  ;  "  for  Satan  also  is 
Byron's  grand  exemplar,  the  hero  of  his  poetry,  and  the 
model  apparently  of  his  conduct.  As  in  Burns's  case  too, 
the    celestial    element    will    not    mingle    with  the    clay 

15  of  earth ;  both  poet  and  man  of  the  world  he  must 
not  be ;  vulgar  Ambition  will  not  live  kindly  with  poetic 
Adoration ;  he  cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon.  Byron, 
like  Burns,  is  not  happy ;  nay,  he  is  the  most  wretched  of 
all  men.     His  life  is  falsely  arranged  :  the  fire  that  is  in 

20  him  is  not  a  strong,  still,  central  fire,  warming  into  beauty 
the  products  of  a  world ;  but  it  is  the  mad  fire  of  a 
volcano;  and  now  —  we  look  sadly  into  the  ashes  of  a 
crater,  which  ere  long  will  fill  itself  with  snow  ! 

Byron  and  Burns  were  sent  forth  as  missionaries  to 

25  their  generation,  to  teach  it  a  higher  Doctrine,  a  purer 
Truth;  they  had  a  message  to  deliver,  which  left  them 
no  rest  till  it  was  accomplished ;  in  dim  throes  of  pain, 
this  divine  behest  lay  smouldering  within  them ;  for  they 
knew  not  what  it  meant,  and  felt  it  only  in  mysterious 


Essay  on  Burns  133 

anticipation,  and  they  had  to  die  without  articulately 
uttering  it.  They  are  in  the  camp  of  the  Unconverted ; 
yet  not  as  high  messengers  of  rigorous  though  benignant 
truth,  but  as  soft  flattering  singers,  and  in  pleasant  fellow- 
ship will  they  live  there  :  they  are  first  adulated,  then  i 
persecuted ;  they  accomplish  little  for  others ;  they  find 
no  peace  for  themselves,  but  only  death  and  the  peace 
of  the  grave.  We  confess,  it  is  not  without  a  certain 
mournful  awe  that  we  view  the  fate  of  these  noble  souls, 
so  richly  gifted,  yet  ruined  to  so  little  purpose  with  all  10 
their  gifts.  It  seems  to  us  there  is  a  stern  moral  taught 
in  this  piece  of  history,  —  twice  told  us  in  our  own  time  ! 
Surely  to  men  of  like  genius,  if  there  be  any  such,  it 
carries  with  it  a  lesson  of  deep  impressive  significance. 
Surely  it  would  become  such  a  man,  furnished  for  the  15 
highest  of  all  enterprises,  that  of  being  the  Poet  of  his 
Age,  to  consider  well  what  it  is  that  he  attempts,  and  in 
what  spirit  he  attempts  it.  For  the  words  of  Milton  are 
true  in  all  times,  and  were  never  truer  than  in  this  :  "  He 
who  would  write  heroic  poems  must  make  his  whole  life  a  20 
heroic  poem."  If  he  cannot  first  so  make  his  life,  then 
let  him  hasten  from  this  arena;  for  neither  its  lofty 
glories,  nor  its  fearful  perils,  are  fit  for  him.  Let  him 
dwindle  into  a  modish  balladmonger ;  let  him  worship 
and  be-sing  the  idols  of  the  time,  and  the  time  will  not  25 
fail  to  reward  him.  If,  indeed,  he  can  endure  to  live  in 
that  capacity  !  Byron  and  Burns  could  not  live  as  idol- 
priests,  but  the  fire  of  their  own  hearts  consumed  them  ; 
and  better  it  was  for  them  that  they  could  not.     For  it  is 


134  Essay  on  Burns 

not  in  the  favour  of  the  great  or  of  the  small,  but  in  a  life 
of  truth,  and  in  the  inexpugnable  citadel  of  his  own  soul, 
that  a  Byron's  or  a  Burns's  strength  must  lie.  Let  the 
great  stand  aloof  from  him,  or  know  how  to  reverence 
5  him.  Beautiful  is  the  union  of  wealth  with  favour  and 
furtherance  for  literature ;  like  the  costliest  flower-jar 
enclosing  the  loveliest  amaranth.  Yet  let  not  the  rela- 
tion be  mistaken.  A  true  poet  is  not  one  whom  they  can 
hire  by  money  or  flattery  to  be  a  minister  of  their  pleas- 

io  ures,  their  writer  of  occasional  verses,  their  purveyor  of 
table-wit ;  he  cannot  be  their  menial,  he  cannot  even  he 
their  partisan.  At  the  peril  of  both  parties,  let  no  such 
union  be  attempted  !  Will  a  Courser  of  the  Sun  work 
softly  in  the  harness  of  a  Dray-horse  ?      His  hoofs  are  of 

15  fire,  and  his  path  is  through  the  heavens,  bringing  light 
to  all  lands ;  will  he  lumber  on  mud  highways,  dragging 
ale  for  earthly  appetites  from  door  to  door? 

But  we  must  stop  short  in  these  considerations,  which 
would  lead  us  to  boundless  lengths.     We  had  something 

20  to  say  on  the  public  moral  character  of  Burns  ;  but  this 
also  we  must  forbear.  We  are  far  from  regarding  him  as 
guilty  before  the  world,  as  guiltier  than  the  average ;  nay, 
from  doubting  that  he  is  less  guilty  than  one  of  ten  thou- 
sand.    Tried  at  a  tribunal  far  more  rigid  than  that  where 

25  the  Plebiscita  of  common  civic  reputations  are  pronounced, 
he  has  seemed  to  us  even  there  less  worthy  of  blame  than 
of  pity  and  wonder.  But  the  world  is  habitually  unjust 
in  its  judgments  of  such  men ;  unjust  on  many  grounds, 
of  which  this  one  may  be  stated  as  the  substance :  It 


Essay  on  Burns  135 

decides,  like  a  court  of  law,  by  dead  statutes ;  and  not 
positively  but  negatively,  less  on  what  is  done  right,  than 
on  what  is  or  is  not  done  wrong.  Not  the  few  inches  of 
deflection  from  the  mathematical  orbit,  which  are  so 
easily  measured,  but  the  ratio  of  these  to  the  whole  5 
diameter,  constitutes  the  real  aberration.  This  orbit  may 
be  a  planet's,  its  diameter  the  breadth  of  the  solar  sys- 
tem ;  or  it  may  be  a  city  hippodrome  ;  nay,  the  circle  of 
a  ginhorse,  its  diameter  a  score  of  feet  or  paces.  But  the 
inches  of  deflection  only  are  measured  :  and  it  is  assumed  10 
that  the  diameter  of  the  ginhorse,  and  that  of  the  planet, 
will  yield  the  same  ratio  when  compared  with  them  ! 
Here  lies  the  root  of  many  a  blind,  cruel  condemnation 
of  Burnses,  Swifts,  Rousseaus,  which  one  never  listens  to 
with  approval.  Granted,  the  ship  comes  into  harbour  15 
with  shrouds  and  tackle  damaged ;  the  pilot  is  blame- 
worthy ;  he  has  not  been  all-wise  and  all-powerful :  but 
to  know  how  blameworthy,  tell  us  first  whether  his  voyage 
has  been  round  the  Globe,  or  only  to  Ramsgate  and  the 
Isle  of  Dogs.  20 

With  our  readers  in  general,  with  men  of  right  feeling 
anywhere,  we  are  not  required  to  plead  for  Burns.  In 
pitying  admiration  he  lies  enshrined  in  all  our  hearts,  in 
a  far  nobler  mausoleum  than  that  one  of  marble  ;  neither 
will  his  Works,  even  as  they  are,  pass  away  from  the  25 
memory  of  men.  While  the  Shakespeares  and  Miltons 
roll  on  like  mighty  rivers  through  the  country  of  Thought, 
bearing  fleets  of  traffickers  and  assiduous  pearl-fishers  on 
their  waves ;    this  little  Valclusa  Fountain  will  also  arrest 


136  Essay  on  Burns 

our  eye  :  for  this  also  is  of  Nature's  own  and  most  cun- 
ning workmanship,  bursts  from  the  depths  of  the  earth, 
with  a  full  gushing  current,  into  the  light  of  day;  and 
often  will  the  traveller  turn  aside  to  drink  of  its  clear 
5  waters,  and  muse  among  its  rocks  and  pines  1 


NOTES 


The  heavy  marginal  figures  stand  for  page,  and  the  lighter  ones  for  lin«. 

55  :  I.  It  is  no  uncommon  thing,  etc.  When  Carlyle  wrote  this 
essay  he  was  thirty-three  years  old,  and  had  won  but  little  recogni- 
tion, nor  did  he  until  nine  years  later.  The  most  striking  recent 
illustration  of  the  tardy  recognition  of  men  of  genius  is  the  case  of 
Browning,  who  for  fifty  years  was  ridiculed  by  the  great  majority 
of  readers. 

55  :  2.  Butler.  Samuel  Butler '(i 612-1680)  after  the  Restora- 
tion wrote  a  brilliant  satire  on  the  Puritans  that  greatly  amused  the 
court  of  Charles  II.  He  was  promised  patronage  by  the  king,  but 
seventeen  years  later  died  in  poverty.  Hudibras  was  one  of  Car- 
lyle's  favorite  books  while  at  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 

55  :  6.  The  inventor  of  a  spinning-jenny.  Carlyle  refers  to 
James  Hargreaves,  who,  however,  did  not  reap  his  reward  in  his 
own. day,  for  he  was  driven  from  his  home  in  Lancashire  by  a  mob 
of  labourers  who  did  not  wish  his  machine  to  supplant  their  work. 

55  :  14.  Brave  mausoleum.  The  citizens  of  Dumfries  began  in 
1813  the  collection  of  funds  that  led  in  1815  to  the  erection  of  this 
mausoleum  in  which  Burns  and  his  family  are  buried.  Brave,  used 
in  the  old  sense  of  fine,  splendid,  is  evidently  ironical,  for  the  mau- 
soleum, with  its  tin  dome  and  somewhat  showy  statuary,  has  excited 
the  ridicule  of  critics  and  visitors.  In  the  Introduction  to  the  New 
Letters  and  Memorials  of  Jane  Welsh  Carlyle,  Carlyle  is  reported 
to  have  said  to  the  Duke  of  Rutland,  who  told  him  that  he  had  just 
returned  from  Dumfries,  and  was  sorry  to  notice  that  the  stones  in 
the  Burns  mausoleum  were  crumbling  away  from  exposure  to  the 

137 


i3* 


Notes 


weather :  "  Sorry !  "  exclaimed  Carlyle,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it. 
I  hope  they  will  go  on  crumbling  till  there  is  no  one  stone  left  upon 
another.  To  think  of  it,  that  a  man  whose  name  was  Turner,  and 
who  called  himself  Turnerelli,  should  have  been  employed  to  make 
a  monument  to  the  greatest  genius  that  ever  lived !  " 

55  :  19.  The  sixth  narrative.  Carlyle  probably  refers  to  Lives 
by  Heron  (1797),  Currie  (1800),  Irving  (1804),  Walker  (181 1), 
and  Peterkin  (181 5).  There  had  been  critical  articles  and  poems 
by  Jeffrey,  Wilson,  Wordsworth,  Mackenzie,  etc. 

56  :  1.  Lockhart.  John  Gibson  Lockhart  (1 794-1854)  is  better 
known  as  the  son-in-law  and  biographer  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  His 
life  of  Burns,  though  still  readable,  lacks  the  genius  that  has  made 
his  biography  of  Scott  second  only  to  BoswelVs  Johnson,  His  life, 
written  by  Andrew  Lang,  reveals  the  fact  that  the  relations  between 
him  and  Carlyle  were  more  intimate  than  had  been  generally 
supposed.  .  < 

56:17.  Sir  Thomas  Lucy.  The  tradition  is  that  Shakespeare, 
along  with  some  gay  companions,  was  prosecuted  for  stealing  deer 
on  Sir  Thomas's  estate,  and  that  the  former,  after  writing  a  satirical 
ballad  and  posting  it  on  the  latter's  gate,  fled  to  London  and  became 
an  actor.  A  similar  tradition  connects  him  with  John  a  Combe,  a 
wealthy  neighbour  of  Stratford,  for  whom  he  wrote  a  doggerel  epitaph. 

56  :  26.  Excise  Commissioners.  His  associates  in  the  excise 
business  —  some  of  them  his  superiors  with  whom  he  got  in  trouble 
on  account  of  his  sympathy  with  the  French  Revolution. 

56  :  27.  Gentlemen  of  the  Caledonian  Hunt.  See  Introduc- 
tion, page  49. 

56  :  29.  Ayr  Writers.  The  lawyers,  solicitors,  and  possibly  the 
chief  clerks,  of  the  town  of  Ayr,  notably  Robert  Aiken,  to  whom 
Burns  dedicated  the  Cotter's  Saturday  Night. 

56  :  29.  The  New  and  Old  Light  Clergy.  The  radicals  and  the 
conservatives  in  the  religious  life  of  that  day.  See  Introduction, 
page  46. 

57 :  9.  His  former  Biographers,  etc.     Carlyle  says  elsewhere, 


Notes  139 


•'A  well  written  life  is  almost  as  rare  as  a  well  spent  one."  While 
the  criticism  with  regard  to  Dr.  Currie's  Life  must  stand,  it  is  to  be 
remembered  that  from  the  edition  of  Burns's  poems  which  he 
supervised  ;£8oo  went  to  Mrs.  Burns  and  her  family  and  none  to 
himself.  He  was  a  Scotch  physician  (1 756-1805).  That  which 
Carlyle  complains  of  as  lacking  in  former  biographers  —  a  delinea- 
tion of  the  resulting  character  as  a  living  unity  —  is  his  own  strong 
point  in  this  essay  and  others  of  his  works.  Emerson  speaks  of  his 
"  devouring  eyes  and  portrait-painting  hands." 

58  :  17.  Constable's  Miscellany.  Constable  was  the  original 
publisher  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  in  which  this  essay  appeared. 
In  his  prosperity  he  projected  a  Miscellany  of  Original  and  Se- 
lected Publications  in  Literature,  Science,  and  the  Arts,  —  a  great 
scheme  for  popularizing  literature.  Lockhart's  Life  of  Burns  ap- 
peared in  this  series  after  Constable's  death  in  1827.  Constable 
was  the  personal  friend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  the  publisher  of 
his  novels. 

58  :  27.  Mr.  Morris  Birkbeck.  An  English  tourist  who  wrote 
Notes  on  a  Journey  to  America  from  the  Coast  of  Virginia  to  the 
Territory  of  Illinois,  London,  181 8. 

59  :  11.  Our  notions  upon  this  subject,  etc.  See  Introduction 
for  Carlyle's  conception  of  criticism.  Contrast  the  questions  here 
asked  by  Carlyle  with  the  judicial  tone  of  criticism  adopted  by  Jeffrey 
in  his  famous  saying  about  Wordsworth,  "This  won't  do." 

60  :  26.  Had  his  very  materials  to  discover  .  .  .  without 
instruction,  without  model.  Carlyle  here,  as  throughout  the 
essay,  underrates  the  influence  of  the  early  Scotch  singers  on 
Burns.  He  always  magnified  the  individual  at  the  expense  of 
"  movements  "  and  "  tendencies  "  and  "  environment."  Is  he  right? 
See  Introduction  for  the  influence  of  the  book  of  Songs,  and  of 
Ramsay  and  Fergusson  in  awakening  Burns  to  a  life  of  poetry.  It 
is  not  detracting  from  the  genius  of  Burns  to  say,  with  Andrew 
Lang,  that  he  was  "  not  an  innovator,  but  a  continuator."  Recent 
critics,  notably  Mr.  Henley,  have  pointed  out  in  detail  his  obliga- 


140  Notes 

tions  to  the  verse  and  sentiment  of  his  predecessors.  "  Pie  passed 
the  folk  song  of  his  nation  through  the  mint  of  his  mind,  and  he 
reproduced  it,  stamped  with  his  image  and  lettered  with  his  super- 
scription :  so  that  for  the  world  at  large  it  exists  and  will  go  on 
existing,  not  as  he  found  but  as  he  left  it.  Burns's  knowledge  of 
the  old  minstrelsy  was  unique;  he  was  saturate  with  its  tradition, 
as  he  was  absolute  master  of  its  emotions  and  effects;  no  such 
artist  in  folk-song  as  he  (so  in  other  words  Sir  Walter  said)  has 
ever  worked  in  literature.  But  a  hundred  forgotten  singers  went 
to  the  making  of  his  achievement  and  himself."  And  again: 
"He  was  the  last  of  a  school  .  .  .  [he  was]  more  largely  de- 
pendent upon  his  exemplars  than  any  other  great  poet  has  ever 
been." 

61  :  18.  An  age  the  most  prosaic.  Carlyle  severely  criticized 
the  eighteenth  century;  in  passage  after  passage  he  has  expressed 
his  abhorrence  of  its  atheism,  its  materialism,  its  intellectualism,  its 
lack  of  vision.  Cf.  Matthew  Arnold  :  "  Gray,  a  born  poet,  fell  upon 
an  age  of  prose.  .  .  .  Gray,  with  the  qualities  of  mind  and  scul  of 
a  genuine  poet,  was  isolated  in  his  century." 

61:24.  Ferguson  or  Ramsay.  Robert  Fergusson  (1 750-1 774), 
the  author  of  The  Farmer's  Ingle^  which  was  the  "  model  "  of  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night  When  Burns  first  went  to  Edinburgh  he  looked  up 
the  grave  of  Fergusson  in  the  Cannongate  churchyard,  and  finding 
no  memorial  stone,  asked  permission  to  erect  one.  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson,  commenting  on  this  incident  says,  "  Burns  knew  best 
whence  he  drew  fire  —  from  the  poor,  white-faced,  drunken,  vicious 
boy  that  raved  himself  to  death  in  the  Edinburgh  madhouse." 
"  And  the  old  Robin,  who  was  before  Burns  and  the  flood,  died  in 
his  acute,  painful  youth  and  left  the  models  of  the  great  things  that 
were  to  come."  Burns  also  visited  the  shop  of  Allan  Ramsay 
( 1 686-1 758),  author  of  the  Gentle  Shepherd — a  pastoral  poem  — 
and  the  Tea- Table  Miscellany  —  a  collection  of  Scotch  poems  that 
had  considerable  influence  over  both  Burns  and  Scott.  These 
two  poets  kept  alive  a  genuine  appreciation  of  nature  and  of  rural 


Notes  141 


life,  while  English  literature  was  altogether  under  the  dominance 
of  classical  ideals. 

62  :  22.  Criticism  ...  a  cold  business.  In  an  essay  on  the 
state  of  German  literature  Carlyle  says  that  a  critic  is  an  interpreter 
between  the  inspired  and  the  uninspired.  He  believed  that  the 
business  of  the  critic  was  to  make  readers  and  not  to  drive  them 
away  from  an  author.  Sympathy  was  an  element  in  criticism  quite 
as  important  as  insight. 

63  :  3.  Sir  Hudson  Lowe.  Governor  of  St.  Helena  during  the 
captivity  of  Napoleon  on  that  island  (1815-1821). 

64  :   10.   The  "  Daisy."     See  the  poem  To  a  Mountain  Daisy. 
64  :  11.    Wee,  cowering,  etc.     See  the  poem  To  a  Mouse. 

64  :  15.  He  dwells  with  a  sad  and  oft- returning  fondness, 
etc.  Compare  for  the  inspiration  of  this  passage  the  words  from 
Burns's  Commonplace  Book,  April,  1784:  "There  is  scarcely  any 
earthly  object  gives  me  more  —  I  don't  know  if  I  should  call  it 
pleasure,  but  something  which  exalts  me,  something  which  en- 
raptures me  —  than  to  walk  in  the  sheltered  side  of  a  wood  or  high 
plantation,  in  a  cloudy,  winter  day,  and  hear  a  stormy  wind  howl- 
ing among  the  trees  and  raving  o'er  the  plain.  It  is  my  best  sea- 
son for  devotion;  my  mind  is  rapt  up  in  a  kind  of  enthusiasm  to 
Him  who,  in  the  pompous  language  of  Scripture,  *  Walks  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind.'  "  It  was  under  such  circumstances,  Burns  tells 
us,  that  he  composed  the  dirge  Winter.  The  italicized  words  of 
the  passage  are  from  Psalm  civ. 

64  :  21.  Observe  him  chiefly,  etc.  They  are  not  so  often  read, 
but  the  student  will  best  appreciate  Burns's  genial  comradeship  by 
reading  his  epistles  to  Sillar,  Lapraik,  Simpson,  Gavin  Hamilton, 
etc. 

65  :  21.  The  majesty  of  Poetry  and  Manhood.  Cf.  what 
Carlyle  says  of  the  "  Rock  of  Independence,"  page  100. 

66  :  6.  A  soul  like  an  iEolian  harp.  A  favourite  figure  not 
Only  with  Burns  and  Carlyle  but  with  other  English  poets,  notably 
Shelley  and  Coleridge. 


142  Notes 

66  :  9.  No  fitter  business.  Carlyle  seems  to  blame  the  world 
here  more  than  in  the  latter  part  of  the  essay.  In  Past  and  Present 
he  says :  "  We  English  find  a  Poet,  as  brave  a  man  as  has  been 
made  for  a  100  years  or  so  anywhere  under  the  sun  ;  and  do  we 
kindle  bonfires,  or  thank  the  gods?  Not  at  all.  We,  taking  due 
counsel  of  it,  set  the  man  to  gauge  ale-barrels  in  the  Burgh  of 
Dumfries,  and  pique  ourselves  on  our  *  patronage  of  genius.' " 

66  :  19.  His  poems  are  .  .  .  mere  occasional  effusions.  At 
Mossgiel,  while  Burns  was  writing  his  most  famous  poems,  he  was 
working  hard  as  a  day-labourer.  He  wrote  his  poems  generally  as  a 
result  of  some  sudden  feeling.  His  wife  has  left  a  description  of 
his  writing  Tarn  O1  Shanter.  While  walking  by  the  river  side  with 
her  two  children,  she  noted  that  Burns  was  crooning  to  himself. 
Directly  she  noticed  strange  and  wild  gesticulations  of  the  bard  as 
he  was  reciting  very  loud,  and  "  with  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks, 
some  of  the  rhymes  of  the  poem."  This  is  the  best  possible  way  in 
which  genuine  lyrical  poetry  can  be  written,  not  with  the  strain  and 
stress  of  one  who,  like  Carlyle,  writes  extended  histories  or,  like 
Milton,  writes  a  sustained  epic. 

67  :  13.  Over  all  regions.  "They  appeal  to  all  ranks,  they 
search  all  ages,  they  cheer  toilworn  men  under  every  clime. 
Wherever  the  English  tongue  is  heard,  beneath  the  suns  of  India, 
amid  African  deserts,  on  the  western  prairies  of  America,  among 
the  squatters  of  Australia,  whenever  men  of  British  blood  would 
give  vent  to  their  deepest,  kindliest,  most  genial  feelings,  it  is  to 
the  songs  of  Burns  they  spontaneously  turn,  and  find  in  them  at 
once  a  perfect  utterance  and  a  fresh  tie  of  brotherhood." 

—  John  Campbell  Shairp. 

67  :  20.  His  Sincerity.  That  which  gives  unity  to  Heroes  and 
Hero-  Worship,  and  which  lies  at  the  basis  of  every  study  Carlyle 
ever  made,  is  this  element  of  sincerity.  He  talked  about  it  so 
much  that  it  became  almost  a  bit  of  cant. 

68  :  3.  His  heart  is  too  full  to  be  silent.  Compare  In  Me* 
moriam  .*— 


Notes  143 

•'  I  do  but  sing  because  I  must, 
And  pipe  but  as  the  linnets  singe" 

68  :  9.  Si  vis  me  flere,  dolendum  est  primum  ipse  tibi„  "K 
thou  wouldst  have  me  weep,  thou  must  first  feel  grief  thyself." 

69  :  12.  Byron.  Byron  had  died  four  years  before  this  essay 
was  written  ;  in  Carlyle's  mind  he  best  represented  the  mood  of 
contemporary  thought  in  England  —  a  mood  of  sentimentalism  and 
discontent.  His  advice  in  Sartor  Resartus  was,  "Close  thy  Byron. 
Open  thy  Goethe"  In  the  same  book  he  has  much  to  say  of  the 
Sorrows  of  Lord  George.  He  undoubtedly  puts  his  finger  upon  the 
weak  point  in  Byron's  character;  for  as  an  acute  French  critic  has 
said,  "  he  posed  all  his  life  long."  Byron's  objection  to  a  certain 
portrait  was  that  it  did  not  make  him  look  sad  enough.  Matthew 
Arnold  was  right,  however,  in  calling  attention  to  a  fact,  equally  as 
significant  in  Byron's  character  —  his  undoubted  strength  "  When 
he  had  fairly  warmed  to  his  work,  then  he  became  another  man; 
then  the  theatrical  personage  passed  away;  then  a  higher  power 
took  possession  of  him  and  filled  him."  The  poems  to  which 
Carlyle  refers  are  Childe  Harold  (the  third  and  fourth  cantos  of 
which  contain  some  of  the  most  eloquent  passages  in  English 
poetry),  the  Giaour  (one  of  his  sensational  Eastern  tales),  and 
Don  Juan  (a  satire  on  the  human  race),, 

70  :  28.  Certain  of  his  letterSo  The  principal  letters  referred 
to  are  those  written  to  Dr.  Moore,  Mr.  Murdoch,  Mrs.  M'Lehose 
(Clarinda),  G.  Thomson,  Dr.  Blair,  and  others.  The  probable 
explanation  of  the  style  in  which  Burns  wrote  his  letters  is  the 
influence  of  eighteenth-century  letter-writers,  a  collection  of  whose 
letters  he  read  while  a  voung  man. 

71  :  27.  Mrs.  Dunlop.  A  very  estimable  woman  of  high  rank 
who,  on  reading  the  first  edition  of  Burns's  poems,  was  so  attracted, 
especially  by  his  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  that  she  immediately  sent 
a  messenger  fifteen  miles  away  to  congratulate  the  poet  and  to  bring 
back  other  copies  of  the  poems,     She  wrote  encouragingly  to  Burn? 


144  Notes 


and  was  his  steadfast  friend  until  his  death.  To  her  he  wrote  one 
of  his  last  letters :  "  An  illness  which  has  long  hung  about  me,  in 
all  probability  will  speedily  send  me  beyond  that  bourn  whence  no 
traveller  returns.  Your  friendship,  with  which  for  many  years  you 
honoured  me,  was  a  friendship  dearest  to  my  soul.  Your  conversa- 
tion, and  especially  your  correspondence,  were  at  once  highly  enter- 
taining and  instructive.  With  what  pleasure  did  I  use  to  break 
up  the  seal !  The  remembrance  yet  adds  one  pulse  more  to  my 
poor  palpitating  heart." 

72  :  3.  His  choice  of  subjects.  Wordsworth,  to  whom  the 
words  of  this  paragraph  might  well  apply,  recognized  Burns  as  his 
master :  — 

"  He  showed  my  youth 
How  verse  may  build  a  princely  throne 
On  humble  truth." 

72  :  13-19.  Rose-coloured  Novels  .  .  .  swarm  in  our  poetry. 

In  this  passage  Carlyle  refers  especially  to  Scott,  Southey,  Moore, 
and  Cooper,  who  at  that  time  were  all  in  the  ascendency.  He  had 
but  little  use  for  what  he  called  the  "innumerable  progeny  of 
chivalry  plays,  feudal  delineations,  political  antiquarian  perform- 
ances." Speaking  of  Goethe,  he  says:  "Neither  does  he  bring 
his  heroes  from  remote  oriental  climates  or  periods  of  chivalry  or 
any  section,  either  of  Atlantis  or  the  Age  of  Gold."  The  revival  of 
interest  in  the  Middle  Ages  had  but  little  interest  for  Carlyle, 
although,  strangely  enough,  he  himself,  in  Past  and  Presentt 
brought  to  life  one  of  the  strangest  bits  of  mediaeval  life.  He 
was  not  just  to  literature  that  merely  amused  people  and  that  was 
not  full  of  moral  ideas.  His  essay  on  Scott  affords  a  striking  contrast 
to  the  essay  on  Burns. 

73  :  14.  The  Ideal  world  is  not  remote  from  the  Actual. 
We  have  here  a  touch  of  idealism  which  is  so  characteristic  of 
Sartor  Resai'tus,  2l  chapter  in  which  on  Natural  Supernaturalism  is 
perhaps  the  best  expression  in  English  prose  of  idealism  or  tran- 
scendentalism. 


Notes  145 


74  :  11.  Minerva  Press.  A  printing  house  in  London  which  was 
noted  in  the  eighteenth  century  for  the  publication  of  trashy,  senti- 
mental novels. 

74  :  12.  A  poet  of  Nature's  own  making.     In  the  Epistle  II 

John  Lapraik,  Burns  says :  — 

"  Gie  me  ae  spark  o'  Nature's  fire, 
That's  a*  the  learning  I  desire ; 
Then,  tho'  I  drudge  thro8  dub  an'  mire 

At  pleugh  or  cart, 
My  Muse,  though  hamely  in  attire, 
May  touch  the  heart." 

74:  18.  "The  elder  dramatists."  Charles  Lamb  had  a  few 
years  before  this  time  aroused  considerable  interest  in  Shakespeare's 
contemporaries.  His  letter  to  Wordsworth,  urging  him  to  read 
these  poets,  Carlyle  might  well  have  had  in  mind. 

75  :  6.  Borgia.  Probably  Caesar  Borgia,  one  of  the  most  emi- 
nent and  most  wicked  of  a  very  prominent  Italian  family  from 
which  came  cardinals  and  popes. 

75  :  10.  Mossgiel  and  Tarbolton.  See  Introduction.  Burns 
says,  "  I  felt  as  much  pleasure  in  being  in  the  secret  of  half  the 
loves  of  the  parish  of  Tarbolton  as  ever  did  statesman  in  knowing 
the  intrigues  of  the  courts  of  Rome." 

75  :  11.  Crockford's.  A  famous  gaming  club-house  in  London,' 
built  in  1827. 

75  :  11.  Tuileries.  A  royal  residence  in  Paris  adjoining  the 
Louvre;    it  was  burned  in   187 1. 

75  :  13.  It  is  hinted,  etc.  In  1825  Macaulay  had  written  his 
essay  on  Milton  for  the  Edinburgh  Review  —  an  essay  that  brought 
him  immediate  fame.  His  one  main  contention  in  it  is  that  Milton 
was  born  too  late  to  be  a  great  poet,  that  "  as  civilization  advances 
poetry  almost  necessarily  declines."  Carlyle,  no  doubt,  took  much 
delight  in  demolishing  this  thesis.  He  once  referred  to  Macaulay's 
"  Niagara  of  commonplace  talk." 

carlyle's  essay  on  burns  —  10 


146  Notes 

75  :  20.  Is  not  every  genius  an  impossibility  till  he  appear  ? 
"  Show  our  critics  a  great  man,  Luther,  for  example,  they  begin  to 
what  they  call  'account  *  for  him;  not  to  worship  him,  but  to  take 
the  dimensions  of  him,  —  and  bring  him  out  to  be  a  little  kind  of 
man.  He  was  the  creature  of  the  time,  they  say;  the  time  called 
him  forth,  the  time  did  everything,  he  nothing  —  but  what  we  the 
little  critics  could  have  done,  too!  The  time  called  forth?  Alas, 
we  have  known  time  to  call  loudly  enough  for  their  great  man,  but 
not  find  him  when  they  called!  He  was  not  there;  Providence 
had  not  sent  him;  the  time  calling  its  loudest  had  to  go  down  in 
confusion  and  wreck  because  he  would  not  come  when  called."  — 
Heroes  and  Hero-  Worship, 

75  :  24.  It  is  not  the  dark  place,  etc.  Cf.  Browning's  Fra  Lippo 
Uppi:- 

"  For,  don't  you  mark  ?    We're  made  so  that  we  love 
First  when  we  see  them  painted,  things  we  have  passed 
Perhaps  a  hundred  times  nor  cared  to  see ; 
And  so  they  are  better,  painted  —  better  to  us, 
Which  is  the  same  thing.     Art  was  given  for  that ; 
God  uses  us  to  help  each  other  so, 
Lending  our  minds  out." 

75  :  29.  The  Wounded  Hare.     See  poem  To  a  Mouse, 

76  :  3.  Hallowe'en.     See  poem  by  that  name. 

76  :  4.  Theocritus.  A  Greek  pastoral  poet  of  the  third  century 
B.C.  who  lived  in  Sicily,  and  brought  to  Greek  poetry  a  fresh  feeling 
for  rural  life. 

76  :  6.  Council  of  Trent.  A  council  held  at  Trent  (1545-1563), 
which  condemned  the  leading  doctrines  of  the  Reformation. 

76  :  7.  Roman  Jubilee.  A  solemn  festival  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  usually  held  once  in  twenty-five  or  fifty  years.  At  such 
times  men  may  obtain  absolution  of  sin  by  acts  of  penance. 

76  :  7.   Superstition  ....  Fun.     Characters  in  The  Holy  Fair. 

77  :  1.  And  observe  with  what  a  fierce  prompt  force.  The 
words  of  this  paragraph  are  truer  even  of  Carlyle  than  of  Burns. 


Notes  147 

Cf.  what  Ruskin  says  of  the  penetrative  power  of  the  imagination. 
"It  never  stops  at  crusts  or  ashes,  or  outward  images  of  any  kind; 
it  ploughs  them  all  aside,  and  plunges  into  the  very  central  fiery 
heart." 

77  :  18.  Retzsch  (Moritz,  1 779-1857).  A  German  etcher  and 
painter,  who  illustrated  the  works  of  Goethe,  Schiller,  and  Shake- 
speare, and  was  therefore  interesting  to  Carlyle. 

78  n  18.  Auld  Brig.  A  reference  to  the  Brigs  of  Ayr,  in  which, 
however,  it  is  the  fall  of  the  new  bridge  rather  than  of  the  old  that 
is  prophesied. 

79  :  6.  Poussin-picture.  Nicholas  Poussin,  a  French  painter 
(1594-1665),  who  painted  the  Deluge,  to  which  Carlyle  may  refer. 

79  :  12.    Smithy  of  the  Cyclops.     See  Odyssey  >  Book  ix. 

79  :  12.  Yoking  of  Priam's  Chariot.  See  Iliad,  Book  xxiv. 
(Pope's  translation  may  be  accessible  to  the  student.) 

79  :  13.  Burn-the-wind.  The  blacksmith  in  the  poem  Scotch 
Drink  is  called  Burnewin. 

79  :  20.  The  pale  moon,  etc.  This  passage  is  inaccurately 
quoted,  and  should  read  (Cambridge  edition  of  the  poems)  :  — 

"  The  wan  moon  sets  behind  the  white  wave, 
And  Time  is  setting  with  me,  O ! 
False  friends,  false  love,  farewell !  for  mair 
I'll  ne'er  trouble  them  nor  thee,  O !  " 

80  :  5.  Richardson.  Samuel  Richardson  (1689-1761),  author 
of  the  first  English  novel,  Pamela  (1740),  and  later  of  Clarissa 
Harlowe. 

80  :  5.  Defoe.  Daniel  Defoe  (1661-1731),  author  of  Robinson 
Crusoe. 

80  :  20.  s "  A  gentleman  that  derived  his  patent,"  etc.  Cap- 
tain Matthew  Henderson  is  referred  to  in  the  sub-title  of  an  elegy 
on  him  as  "  a  gentleman  who  held  the  patent  for  his  honours  imme- 
diately from  Almighty  God." 


148  Notes 

80  :  23.   "  Red-wat-shod."    Red-wet-shod,  wading  in  blood.   See 

Epistle  to  William  Simpson  :  — 

"  At  Wallace'  name,  what  Scottish  blood 
But  boils  up  in  a  springtide  flood  ? 
Oft  have  our  fearless  fathers  strode 

By  Wallace'  side, 
Still  pressing  onward,  red-wat-shod. 

Or  glorious  dy'd ! 

81  :  2.  Professor  Stewart.  Dugald  Stewart  (1753-1828),  pro- 
fessor of  Philosophy  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  He  gen- 
erally spent  his  summers  at  Cartrine  on  the  Ayr,  not  far  from 
Burns's  farm.  See  Introduction  for  his  connection  with  Burns's 
life  in  Edinburgh. 

81  :  13.  Keats.  In  the  original  version  of  this  essay,  as  it 
appeared  in  the  Edinburgh  Review,  Jeffrey  changed  "  weak-eyed 
maudlin  "  into  M  extreme,"  and  "  random  "  into  "  pervading,"  but 
Carlyle,  in  editing  his  essays,  changed  it  to  its  present  form.  He 
is  thoroughly  unfair  to  one  of  the  greatest  English  poets,  largely 
because  he  had  little  sympathy  with  the  aesthetic  ideals  of  one  who 
wrote,  "  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever."  Tennyson  was  far 
nearer  right  when  he  said  that  in  Keats's  early  death  English  poetry 
suffered  an  irreparable  loss. 

81  :  17.  The  result  of  their  general  harmony  and  comple- 
tion. Cf.  Matthew  Arnold's  definition  of  culture  as  the  harmonious 
expansion  of  all  our  powers,  and  Edward  Dowden's  characterization 
of  Wordsworth :  "  All  diverse  energies  blended  in  Wordsworth's 
nature  into  a  harmonious  whole.  The  senses  were  informed  by  the 
soul  and  became  spiritual;  passion  was  conjoined  with  reason  and 
with  conscience;  knowledge  was  vivified  by  emotion;  a  calm  pas- 
sivity was  united  with  a  creative  energy;  peace  and  excitation  were 
harmonized;   and  over  all  brooded  the  imagination." 

81  :  20.  The  Hell  of  Dante.  Dante's  Divina  Commedia  is 
divided  into  three  parts,  Inferno  (Hell),  Purgatorio,  and  Paradiso. 


Notes 


149 


81  :  27.  Novum  Organum.  Bacon's  greatest  work  in  philoso- 
phy, in  which  he  outlines  the  inductive  philosophy  which  was  to 
play  such  an  important  part  in  the  scientific  work  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

82  :  13.  The  logic  of  the  senate  and  the  forum.  Carlyle  is 
constantly  making  light  of  the  logical  faculty  as  compared  with 
intuition  or  insight.  He  calls  it  "  Attorney  logic "  in  Sartor 
Resartus.  "Foolish  Word-monger  and  Motive-grinder,  who  in 
thy  Logic-mill  hast  an  earthly  mechanism  for  the  godlike  itself  and 
would  fain  grind  me  out  virtue  from  the  husk  of  Pleasure,  —  I  tell 
thee  nay." 

84  :  22   I  thought  me,  etc.     See  the  poem  A  Winter  Night. 

85  :  19.  Dr.  Slop  .  .  .  uncle  Toby.  Characters  in  Sterne's 
Tristram  Shandy,  a  book  much  liked  by  both  Burns  and  Carlyle. 

85  :  23.  But  has  it  not  been  said,  etc.  The  two  following 
paragraphs  were  not  in  the  essay  as  printed  in  the  Edinburgh 
Review. 

85  :  24.  "  Indignation  makes  verses  "  (Facit  indignatio  versus), 
Juvenal.     Cf.  Tennyson's  Poet :  — 

"  Dower'd  with  the  hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn, 
The  love  of  love." 

86  :  6.  A  good  hater.  Dr.  Johnson  is  reported  to  have  said  s 
"  Dear  Bathurst  was  a  man  to  my  very  heart's  content :  he  hated  a 
fool  and  he  hated  a  rogue,  and  he  hated  a  Whig :  he  was  a  very 
good  hater." 

86  :  19.  Dweller  in  yon  Dungeon  dark.  A  poem  written  under 
circumstances  thus  related  by  Burns :  "  In  January  last,  on  my  road 
to  Ayrshire,  I  had  to  put  up  at  Bailie  Whigham's,  in  Sanquhar,  the 
only  tolerable  inn  in  the  place.  The  frost  was  keen,  and  the  grim 
evening  and  howling  wind  were  ushering  in  a  night  of  snow  and 
drift.  My  horse  and  I  were  both  much  fatigued  with  the  labours  of 
the  day,  and  just  as  my  friend  the  Bailie  and  I  were  bidding  defiance 
to  the  storm,  over  a  smoking  bowl,  in  wheels  the  funeral  pageantry 


1 50  Notes 

of  the  late  great  Mrs.  Oswald;  and  poor  I  am  forced  to  brave  all 
the  horrors  of  a  tempestuous  night  and  jade  my  horse,  my  young 
horse,  whom  I  had  just  christened  Pegasus,  twelve  miles  further  on 
through  the  wildest  moors  and  hills  of  Ayrshire  to  New  Cumnock, 
to  the  next  inn !  The  powers  of  poesy  and  prose  sink  under  me 
when  I  would  describe  what  I  felt.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  when  a 
good  fire  at  New  Cumnock  had  so  far  recovered  my  frozen  sinews, 
I  sat  down  and  wrote  the  enclosed  ode." 

86  :  21.  Furies  of  -ffischylus.  In  the  Eumenides  of  ^Eschylus 
the  Furies  are  introduced  in  the  chorus.  ^Eschylus  was  one  of  the 
greatest  of  Greek  tragedians. 

87  :  1.  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled.'  There  is  a  contra- 
diction as  to  the  circumstances  under  which  the  poem  was  written. 
Carlyle  accepts  the  statement  of  Syme,  who  says  that  after  visiting 
Mr.  Gordon  at  Kenmure,  he  and  the  poet  passed  over  the  moors  to 
Gatehouse  in  a  wild  storm :  "  The  sky  was  sympathetic  with  the 
wretchedness  of  the  soil.  It  became  lowering  and  dark,  the  winds 
sighed  hollow,  the  lightning  gleamed,  the  thunders  rolled.  The 
poet  enjoyed  the  awful  scene.  He  spoke  not  a  word,  but  seemed 
rapt  in  meditation.  In  a  little  while  the  rain  began  to  fall.  It 
poured  in  floods  upon  us,  and  what  do  you  think  Burns  was  about  ? 
He  was  charging  the  English  army  along  with  Bruce  at  Bannock- 
burn."  Two  days  later,  when  they  were  returning  from  St.  Mary's 
Isle  to  Dumfries,  "  he  was  engaged  in  the  same  manner,  and  pro- 
duced me  the  address  of  Bruce  to  his  troops."  Burns  himself,  in  a 
letter  to  Thomson  (August  or  September,  1793),  gives  a  different 
account  of  the  origin  of  the  poem :  "  This  thought  [Bruce's  victory 
at  Bannockburn],  in  my  yesternight's  evening  walk,  roused  me  to  a 
pitch  of  enthusiasm  on  the  theme  of  liberty  and  independence, 
which  I  threw  into  a  kind  of  Scot's  ode,  fitted  to  the  air,  that  one 
might  suppose  to  be  the  gallant,  royal  Scot's  address  to  his  heroic 
followers  on  that  eventful  morning."  It  is  difficult  to  reconcile 
these  two  statements,  although  one  would  prefer  to  believe  the 
first,  especially  as  some  of  the  finest  lines  in  Marmion  were  said  to 


Notes  151 


be  composed  in  the  same  way.  It  is  evident  from  the  conclusion 
of  Burns's  letter  that  the  thought  of  the  French  Revolution  was  also 
in  his  mind,  and  that  in  this  poem,  as  in  A  Man's  a  Alan  for  a' 
That,  he  was  chanting  the  battle-song  of  modern  democracy. 

87  :  19.  Cacus.  A  giant  in  Virgil's  ALneid,  slain  by  Hercules 
for  stealing  cattle. 

88  :  3.  At  Thebes,  and  in  Pelops'  line.  Milton,  in  summariz- 
ing the  tragedies  of  Greek  literature,  says  in  //  Penseroso  :  — 

"  Sometime  let  gorgeous  Tragedy 
In  sceptred  pall  come  sweeping  by, 
Presenting  Thebes,  or  Pelops'  line, 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine." 

88  :  17.  Humour.  "And  if  with  an  eye  for  words  and  effects  in 
words,  that  student  have  also  the  faculty  of  laughter,  then  are  his 
admiration  and  his  pleasure  multiplied  tenfold.  For  the  master- 
quality  of  Burns,  the  quality  which  has  gone,  and  will  ever  go,  the 
furtherest  to  make  him  universally  and  perennially  acceptable  — 
acceptable  in  Melbourne  (say)  a  hundred  years  hence  as  in  Mauch- 
line  syne  —  is  humour.  .  .  .  But  his  humour  —  broad,  rich,  prevail- 
ing, now  lascivious  or  gargantuan  and  now  fanciful  or  jocose,  now 
satyrical  and  brutal  and  now  instinct  with  sympathy,  —  is  ever 
irresistible."  —  Henley. 

89  :  1.  Sterne.  Laurence  Sterne  (171 3-1 768),  an  English  nov- 
elist, author  of  Tristram  Shandy  and  A  Sentimental  Journey. 
Cf.  85  :  19. 

89  :  26.  Tieck  .  .  .  Musaus.  For  the  sake  of  those  who  are 
not  German  readers,  it  may  be  said  that  Ludwig  Tieck  (1 773-1853) 
and  Johann  Karl  August  Musaus  (1 735-1 787)  worked  with  mate- 
rials drawn  from  popular  legend,  but  that  Musaus  treated  his 
material  in  a  satirical  vein  rather  than  in  the  spirit  of  the  original. 
Carlyle  had  translated  from  both  of  these  authors. 

90  :  21.  The  Jolly  Beggars.  Henley,  commenting  on  Lock- 
hart's  preference  for  the  Cotter's  Saturday  Nighty  says :  "  I,  for  my 


152  Notes 

part,  would  not  give  my  Holy  Fair,  still  less  my  Hallowe'en  01  my 
Jolly  Beggars — observed,  selected,  excellently  reported  —  for  a 
wilderness  of  Saturday  Nights"  He  quotes,  with  evident  disgust, 
a  letter  from  a  friend  stating  that  the  old  Poosie-Nansie  Tavern 
has  a  large  room,  on  the  walls  of  which  is  hung  in  the  place  of 
honour  —  printed  and  framed  and  glazed  —  not  the  Jolly  Beggars, 
as  one  might  suppose,  but  the   Cotter's  Saturday  Night. 

91  :  20.  Teniers.  David  Teniers  (1 582-1 649)  a  Flemish  artist 
who  painted  mostly  peasants  with  landscapes. 

91  :  25.  The  Beggars'  Opera.  A  play  written  by  John  Gay 
(1685-1732)  at  the  suggestion  of  Swift.  It  ran  for  a  hundred 
nights.  The  Beggars'  Bush  was  written  by  John  Fletcher  (1579- 
1625). 

92  :  14.  The  Songs  of  Burns.  He  wrote  in  all  nearly  three 
hundred  for  Johnson's  Museum  and  Thomson's  Scottish  Airs.  As 
has  been  seen  in  the  sketch  of  Burns's  life,  most  of  these  songs 
were  written  at  Ellisland  and  Dumfries,  while  many  of  them  are 
simply  adaptations  of  older  songs,  and  nearly  all  of  them  are  words 
written  for  tunes  already  in  existence.  There  are  at  least  a  dozen 
that  rank  with  the  great  lyrics  of  the  world's  literature.  It  is  inter- 
esting to  compare  with  the  verdict  of  Carlyle  that  of  Tennyson  and 
others,  as  given  in  a  bit  of  reminiscence  by  Aubrey  de  Vere: 
*' Tennyson  exclaimed  to  me  one  day,  'Read  the  exquisite  songs  of 
Burns.  In  shape,  each  of  them  has  the  perfection  of  the  berry;  in 
light  the  radiance  of  the  dewdrop;  you  forget  for  its  sake  those 
stupid  things,  his  serious  pieces.'  The  same  day  I  met  Wordsworth, 
and  named  Burns  to  him.  Wordsworth  praised  him,  even  more 
vehemently  than  Tennyson  had  done,  as  the  great  genius  who 
brought  Poetry  back  to  nature ;  but  ended,  '  Of  course  I  refer  to 
his  serious  efforts,  such  as  the  Cotter's  Saturday  Night;  those  fool- 
ish little  amatory  songs  of  his  one  has  to  forget.'  I  told  the  tale  to 
Henry  Taylor  that  evening,  and  his  answer  was :  '  Burns'  exquisite 
songs  and  Burns'  serious  efforts  are  to  me  alike  tedious,  and  dis- 
agreeable reading.' " 


Notes  1 53 


92  :  15.  Since  the  era  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  etc.  Carlyle  either 
did  not  know  about,  or  did  not  care  at  all  for,  the  lyrics  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  such  as  those  of  Herrick,  Vaughan,  Herbert,  Cra- 
shaw,  and  Carew,  which  from  the  standpoint  of  pure  melody  and 
beauty  must  always  have  a  high  rank  in  English  lyric  poetry. 

92  :  21.  Ossorius  the  Portugal  Bishop.  Noyes  quotes  the 
words  of  Bacon  in  his  Advancement  of  Learning  concerning  this 
"  Cicero  of  Portugal."  They  express  so  well  the  exact  opposite  of 
all  Carlyle's  views  of  art  that  they  should  be  quoted :  "  Men  began 
to  hunt  more  after  words  than  matter;  more  after  the  choiceness 
of  the  phrase,  and  the  round  and  clean  composition  of  the  sen- 
tence, and  the  sweet  falling  of  the  clauses,  and  the  varying  and 
illustration  of  their  works  with  tropes  and  figures,  than  after  the 
weight  of  matter,  worth  of  subject,  soundness  of  argument,  life  of 
invention,  or  depth  of  judgment.  Then  grew  the  flowing  and 
watery  vein  of  Ossorius  the  Portugal  bishop,  to  be  in  price." 

93  :  7.  They  actually  and  in  themselves  are  music.  Allan 
Cunningham  has  given  an  account  of  the  circumstances  under 
which  Burns's  songs  were  composed,  showing  that  the  musical 
element  was  the  most  notable  feature :  "  When  he  lived  in  Dum- 
fries he  had  three  favourite  walks —  on  the  dock-green  by  the  river- 
side; among  the  ruins  of  Lincluden  College;  and  towards  the 
Martingdon-Ford,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Nith.  This  latter  place 
was  secluded,  commanded  a  view  of  the  distant  hills  and  the  roman- 
tic towers  of  Lincluden,  and  afforded  soft  greensward  banks  to  rest 
upon,  and  the  sight  and  sound  of  the  stream.  As  soon  as  he  was 
heard  to  hum  to  himself,  his  wife  saw  that  he  had  something  in  his 
mind,  and  was  quite  prepared  to  see  him  snatch  up  his  hat,  and  set 
silently  off  for  his  musing-ground.  When  by  himself,  and  in  the 
open  air,  his  ideas  arranged  themselves  in  their  natural  order  — 
words  came  at  will,  and  he  seldom  returned  without  having  finished 
a  song.  .  .  .  When  the  verses  were  finished,  he  passed  them 
through  the  ordeal  of  Mrs.  Burns's  voice;  listened  attentively  when 
she  sang;  asked  her  if  any  of  the  words  were  difficult,  —  and  when 


154  Notes 


one  happened  to  be  too  rough,  he  readily  found  a  smoother;  but 
he  never,  save  at  the  resolute  entreaty  of  a  scientilic  musician,  sacri- 
ficed sense  to  sound.  The  autumn  was  his  favourite  season,  and 
the  twilight  his  favourite  hour  of  study." 

94  :  12.  Our  Fletcher.  A  Scotch  political  writer,  Andrew 
Fletcher  (i 655-1 716),  who,  in  his  account  of  a  conversation  con- 
cerning a  Right  Regulation  of  Cover 'nment  for  the  Common  good  of 
Mankind,  says :  "  I  knew  a  very  wise  man  "  who  "  believed  if  a 
man  were  permitted  to  make  all  the  ballads  he  need  not  care  who 
should  make  the  laws  of  a  nation." 

95  :  10-16.  Grays  and  Glovers.  Is  it  not  strange  that  Glover 
(171 2-1 785),  an  obscure  poet,  the  author  of  a  forgotten  epic, 
Leonidas,  should  be  coupled  with  Gray  (1716-1771),  one  of  the 
most  popular  of  English  poets?  No  one  who  has  ever  read  the 
Elegy  writte7t  in  a  Country  Churchyard  can  fail  to  see  the  strong 
local  color  in  this  poem.  Goldsmith  is  excepted  from  the  general 
statement  on  account  of  his  Deserted  Village  and  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field, which  are  full  of  the  charm  of  rural  life.  While  writing  in  the 
form  of  the  eighteenth  century,  he  had  something  of  the  spirit  of  the 
nineteenth.  Carlyle  is  right  in  his  characterization  of  the  Rambler, 
one  of  the  many  successors  of  the  Spectator,  and  of  Rasselas,  a 
romance  of  the  East,  although  Johnson  himself  is  one  of  the  best 
types  of  the  English  race,  with  all  its  prejudice  and  its  common- 
sense  way  of  doing  things. 

95  :  21.  At  Geneva.  Just  as  Swiss  soldiers  have  fought  as  mer- 
cenaries in  the  armies  of  all  the  nations  of  Europe,  so  leading  citi- 
zens of  France,  Germany,  and  Italy  have  made  their  homes  in  the 
Swiss  capital.     There  is  still  little  national  feeling. 

95  :  22.  For  a  long  period,  etc.  The  union  between  Scotland 
and  England  was  perfected  in  1709,  and  undoubtedly  had  much  to 
do  with  the  suppression  of  patriotism  in  Scotland.  It  is  hardly  just 
to  say  that  there  was  no  literature,  for  in  Scotland  something  of  the 
genuine  folk-song  remained,  while  England  was  in  the  grip  of  classic 
ideals.     See  page  140  for  references  to  Fergusson  and  Ramsay. 


Notes  155 


g5  :  24.  Addison  and  Steele.  Joseph  Addison  (1672-1719) 
and  Sir  Richard  Steele  (1672- 1729)  were  intimate  friends  from 
their  boyhood.  They  had  much  to  do  with  the  development  of 
periodical  literature.  The  7W/?r  was  established  in  1709  and  the 
Spectator  in  171 1.     See  Thackeray's  English  Humorists. 

95  :  25-  John  Boston.  Thomas  Boston  (1677-1732),  the  name 
of  whose  book  is  Human  Nature  in  its  Fourfold  State,  a  work 
setting  forth  the  theology  of  Calvinism. 

95  :  27.  Schisms  in  our  National  Church.  Such  struggles  as 
those  of  the  Covenanters  and  that  of  the  Old  Lights  and  the  New 
Lights. 

95  :  28.  The  fiercer  schisms  in  our  Body  Politic.  The  long 
struggle  between  the  adherents  of  the  Stuarts  (called  Jacobites) 
and  theygovernment  of  William  III,  Anne,  and  the  Georges.  Even 
Sir  Walter  Scott  was  at  heart  something  of  an  adherent  of  the 
Stuarts. 

96:3.  Lord  Karnes.  Henry  Home  Karnes  (1 696-1 782),  author 
of  the  Elements  of  Criticism,  and  also  a  distinguished  judge. 

96  :  4.  Hume.  David  Hume  (1711-1776),  a  very  acute  phi- 
losopher and  author  of  a  well-known  history  of  England. 

96  :  4.  Robertson.  William  Robertson  (1721-1793),  author  of 
History  of  Charles  V  and  a  History  of  Scotland. 

96:4.  Smith.  Adam  Smith  ( 1 723-1 790),  author  of  the  Wealth 
of  Nations,  the  first  scientific  treatment  of  economic  science. 

96  :  14.  Racine.  Jean  Racine  (1639-1699),  a  famous  French 
dramatist. 

96  :  14.  Voltaire.  Francois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire  (1694- 
1778),  one  of  the  greatest  of  French  writers,  a  poet,  dramatist,  and 
historian.     He  is  especially  known  as  the  enemy  of  Christianity. 

96  :  14.  Batteux.  Charles  Batteux  (1713-1780),  a  French  man 
of  letters,  chiefly  noted  as  a  writer  on  aesthetics. 

96:14.  Boileau.  Nicholas  Boileau-Despreaux  (1636-1 711),  the 
most  famous  of  French  critics  of  the  classical  period.  He  had  much 
influence  over  Pope. 


156  Notes 


g6  :  16.  Montesquieu.  Charles  de  Secondat,  Baron  de  Mon- 
tesquieu ( 1 689-1 755),  a  French  jurist  and  political  philosopher, 
author  of  V Esprit  des  Lois, 

96  :  16.  Mably.  Gabriel  Bonnot,  Abbe  de  Mably  (1 709-1785), 
a  French  publicist. 

96  :  17.  Quesnay.  Francois  Quesnay  (1694-1774),  a"  French 
political  economist  and  physician. 

g6  :  22.  La  Fldche.  A  town  on  the  Loire  River  in  France, 
at  which  Hume  spent  several  years. 

07  :  16.  "Doctrine  of  Rent."  The  subject  of  one  of  the  chap- 
ters in  Adam  Smith's  Wealth  of  Nations,  a  book  that  Carlyle  had 
a  contempt  for,  because  it  had  brought  into  the  thought  of  England 
the  idea  of  "  the  economic  man,"  against  which  he  struggled  ear- 
nestly in  his  Past  and  Present  The  Natural  History  of  Religion 
is  a  work  in  which  Hume  endeavours  to  treat  religion  from  a 
thoroughly  natural  standpoint,  which  of  course  is  directly  contrary 
to  the  natural  supernaturalism  of  Carlyle. 

98  :  15.  He  eagerly  searches  after  some  lonely  brother,  etc. 
Burns,  in  his  epistles  to  John  Lapraik  and  David  Sillar,  shows  an 
eagerness  to  find  companions  in  verse  that  is  altogether  out  of 
proportion  to  the  poetical  achievements  of  these  men.  The  fact 
that  Burns  erected  a  memorial  stone  over  Fergusson's  grave  has 
already  been  referred  to. 

98  :  20.  A  wish,  etc.  Quoted  from  Answer  to  Verses  Addressed 
to  the  Poet  by  the  Guidwife  of  Wauchope  House,  written  in  1787. 
Cf.  the  conclusion  of  the  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  stanzas  19-21; 
Epistle  to  William  Simpson. 

"  But,  Willie,  set  your  fit  to  mine, 
An'  cock  your  crest ! 
We'll  gar  our  streams  and  burnies  shine 
Up  wi'  the  best. 

"  We'll  sing  auld  Coila's  plains  an'  fells, 
Her  moors  red-brown  wi*  heather  bells, 
Her  banks  and  braes,  her  dens  an'  dells, 


Notes  157 


Where  glorious  Wallace 
Aft  bure  the  gree,  as  story  tells, 
Frae  Suthron  billies." 

102  :  22.  The  boy  Robert  ...  to  some  university.  What 
influence  did  the  university  have  on  Carlyle  ?  As  to  the  point  that 
Burns  might  have  changed  the  whole  course  of  British  literature, 
Aiton  quotes  a  passage  from  Andrew  Lang:  "I  have  not  made 
much  lament  for  the  poverty  of  Burns.  He  had,  probably,  about 
as  much  schooling  as  Shakespeare;  he  had  the  best  education  for 
his  genius.  Better  Scots  poetry  he  could  not  have  written  had  he 
been  an  Ireland  scholar;  and  his  business  was  to  write  Scots  poetry. 
The  people  of  whom  he  came  he  could  not  have  represented  as  he 
did,  if  a  long  classical  education  and  many  academic  years  had 
come  between  him  and  the  clay  bigging  of  his  birth.  He  could  not 
have  bettered  Tarn  O'Shanter,  or  Hallowe'en,  or  the  Jolly  Beggars, 
if  he  had  been  steeped  in  Longinus  and  Quintilian,  Dr.  Blair  his 
rhetoric,  and  the  writings  of  Boileau.  A  man's  work,  after  all,  is 
what  he  could  do  and  had  to  do.  One  fails  to  see  how  any 
change  of  worldly  circumstance  could  have  bettered  the  true  work 
of  Burns." 

103  :  7.  Let  us  worship  God.     See  Cotter's  Saturday  Night 

103  :  28.  In  glory  and  in  joy.  From  Wordsworth's  Leech  Gath- 
erer, stanza  7.  This  is  the  sole  reference  in  the  essay  to  Words- 
worth, for  whom  Carlyle  had  little  admiration,  although  many  of 
their  ideas  are  similar. 

104  :  2.  The  gayest,  brightest,  most  fantastic,  etc.  Henley, 
after  referring  to  the  mental  and  physical  suffering  of  Burns's  early 
life,  —  a  life  described  by  Burns  himself  as  the  "  cheerless  gloom  of 
a  hermit  with  the  unceasing  toil  of  a  galley  slave,"  —  says  that  the 
poet  escaped  with  a  lifelong  tendency  to  vapours  and  melancholia. 
"  William  Burness  is  indeed  a  pathetic  figure;  but  to  me  the  Robert 
of  Mount  Oliphant  is  a  figure  more  pathetic  still." 

104  :  10.  A  kind  of  mud-bath.  Cf.  Tennyson's  In  Memoriatr^ 
canto  liii :  — 


158  Notes 


"  And  dare  we  to  this  fancy  give, 

That  had  the  wild  oat  not  been  sown, 
The  soil,  left  barren,  scarce  had  grown 
The  grain  by  which  a  man  may  live  ? 

"  Or,  if  we  held  the  doctrine  sound 

For  life  outliving  heats  of  youth, 
Yet  who  would  preach  it  as  a  truth 
To  those  that  eddy  round  and  round  ?  M 

106  :  23.  "  Hungry  Ruin  has  him  in  the  wind."  An  expres* 
sion  used  by  Burns  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Moore. 

106  :  28.  Wild  farewell  to  Scotland.  The  Gloomy  Night  is 
gathering  Fast.     The  last  line  should  read, — 

"  Farewell  my  bonie  banks  of  Ayr." 

107  :  18.  Rienzi,  a  Roman  patriot  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
who  revived  the  title  of  Tribune  of  the  People.  His  great  power 
turned  his  head,  however,  and  he  became  a  tyrant. 

109  :  9.  Professor  Ferguson's.  Adam  Ferguson  (1 723-1816), 
professor  of  Philosophy  at  Edinburgh  prior  to  Dugald  Stewart. 

109  :  14.  Bunbury  ( 1 750-181 1).  An  amateur  artist  and  cari- 
caturist. 

109  :  26.  Langhorne.  John  Langhorne  CI735~I779)»  author 
of  the  poem  The  Count?y  Justice  (so  the  poem  is  called  in 
Chalmers's  British  Poets)  and,  with  his  brother  William,  the 
translator  of  Plutarch's  Lives. 

no  :  3.  Mr.  Nasmyth's  picture.  Alexander  Nasmyth  (1758- 
1840),  painted  the  well-known  portrait  of  Burns  now  in  the 
National  Gallery  in  London. 

112  :  19.  The  good  old  Blacklock.  Thomas  Blacklock. 
(1721-1791),  a  blind  poet  of  Edinburgh.  In  the  autobiographical 
letter  to  Dr.  Moore,  Burns  says,  referring  to  his  projected  passage 
to  the  West  Indies :  "  A  letter  from  Dr.  Blacklock  to  a  friend  of 
mine,  overthrew  all  my  schemes  by  opening  new  'prospects  to  my 
poetic   ambition.      The  doctor   belonged   to  a  set  of  critics  for 


Notes  159 

whose  applause  I  had  not  dared  to  hope.  His  opinion,  that  I 
would  meet  with  encouragement  in  Edinburgh  for  a  second  edi- 
tion, fired  me  so  much,  that  away  I  posted  for  that  city,  without 
a  single  acquaintance  or  a  single  letter  of  introduction." 

114  :  20.  The  treatment  of  the  woman.  Henley  says: 
"Against  this  panorama  of  tumult  and  variety  and  adventure, 
enlarged  in  Edinburgh,  and  enriched  at  Ellisland  and  in  Dumfries, 
there  are  to  be  set  the  years  of  simple  abnegation,  magnanimity, 
and  devotion  with  which  *  the  facile  and  empty-headed  girl '  [as 
she  is  called  by  some  writers]  repaid  the  husband  of  her  choice." 

117  :  25.  Grocerdom  and  Grazierdom.  Trading  class  and 
farmers. 

118  :  11.  Lady  Grizzel  Baillie  (1 665-1 746).  "A  Loyalist 
lady,  one  of  the  heroic  figures  in  Scotch  history." 

122  :  4.  Friendship  ...  no  longer  exists.  During  the  very 
year  that  Carlyle  wrote  these  words  Arthur  Hallam  and  Alfred 
Tennyson  began  a  friendship,  the  most  notable  in  English  literary 
history,  immortalized  in  In  Memoriam. 

123  :  24.  Cervantes,  author  of  Don  Quixote,  and  at  one  time  a- 
slave  in  Algiers. 

125  :  12.  Roger  Bacon  (1 214-1294),  an  English  philosopher, 
who  wrote  Opus  Majus. 

125  :  13.  Galileo.  Galileo  Galilei  (1 564-1 642),  an  Italian 
physicist  and  astronomer. 

125:13.  Tasso.  Torquato  Tasso  ( 1 544-1 595),  an  Italian  poet, 
author  of  Jerusalem  Delivered. 

125  :  14.  Camoens.  Luiz  de  Camoens  (1524  (?)-i58o),  a  Por- 
tuguese poet,  author  of  the  Lusiad. 

126  :  29.  Restaurateur.  A  restaurant  keeper  ;  perhaps,  as 
Noyes  suggests,  Carlyle  had  in  view  a  man  like  Scott,  who 
simply  affords  entertainment  for  people. 

128  :  1.  Locke.  John  Locke  (1632-1704),  one  of  the  greatest 
of  English  philosophers;  he  advocated  reason,  toleration,  and  com- 
mon sense  in  all  things. 


160  Notes 

128  :  9.  Araucana.  An  heroic  poem  written  by  Alonso  de 
Ercilla,  a  Spanish  soldier  and  poet  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

129  :  16.  He  has  no  Religion.  Can  this  be  said  of  one  who 
wrote  the  Cotter* s  Saturday  Night?  Burns  had  reverence,  had  a 
genuine  sorrow  for  his  many  sins,  but  he  had  no  fixed  faith.  The 
point  that  Carlyle  makes  against  Burns  is  the  one  he  made  often 
with  regard  to  his  own  age.  He  says  in  Heroes  and  Hero-  Worship, 
"  A  man's  religion  is  the  chief  fact  with  regard  to  him.  A  man's 
or  a  nation  of  men's.  By  religion  I  do  not  mean  here  the  Church- 
creed  which  he  professes,  the  articles  of  faith  which  he  will  sign, 
and,  in  words  or  otherwise,  assert.  .  .  .  But  the  thing  a  man  does 
practically  believe,  the  thing  a  man  does  practically  lay  to  heart, 
and  know  for  certain;  concerning  his  vital  relations  to  this  myste- 
rious universe  and  his  duty  and  destiny  there,  that  is  in  all  cases  the 
primary  thing  for  him."  In  Signs  of  the  Times  he  defines  religion 
as  a  "thousand-voiced  song  from  the  heart  of  Man  to  his  Invisible 
Father,  fountain  of  all  goodness,  beauty,  truth." 

129  :  24.  Rabelais.  Francois  Rabelais  (1495— 1553),  a  cele- 
brated French  humorist  of  the  sixteenth  century,  creator  of  Pan- 
tagruel  and  Gargantua. 

130  :  24.  Jean  Paul.  The  pseudonym  of  Jean  Paul  Friedrich 
Richter  (1 763-1825),  a  famous  German  writer  who  is  said  to  have 
influenced  the  formation  of  Carlyle's  style. 

135  :  14.  Swift.  Jonathan  Swift  (1667-1745),  the  keenest  of 
English  satirists,  author  of  Gulliver's  Travels,  Tale  of  a  Tub,  etc. 

135  :  14.  Rousseau.  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  (1712-1778),  a 
Swiss-French  writer  whose  radical  ideas  had  much  to  do  with 
bringing  on  the  French  Revolution.  His  best  known  books  are 
La  nouvelle  Heloise,  Le  contrat  social,  £mile,  and  Confessions. 

135:29.  Valclusa  Fountain.  The  Italian  poet  Petrarch  (1304- 
1374)  lived  at  Vaucluse,  near  Avignon,  and  wrote  many  poems 
about  the  fountain  there. 


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